Why so many Muslims deeply resent the West, and why their bitterness will not easily be mollified
The separation of Church and State
In one of his letters Thomas Jefferson remarked that in matters of religion "the maxim of civil government" should be reversed and we should rather say, "Divided we stand, united, we fall." In this remark Jefferson was setting forth with classic terseness an idea that has come to be regarded as essentially American: the separation of Church and State. This idea was not entirely new; it had some precedents in the writings of Spinoza, Locke, and the philosophers of the European Enlightenment. It was in the United States, however, that the principle was first given the force of law and gradually, in the course of two centuries, became a reality.
If the idea that religion and politics should be separated is relatively new, dating back a mere three hundred years, the idea that they are distinct dates back almost to the beginnings of Christianity. Christians are enjoined in their Scriptures to "render ... unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's and unto God the things which are God's." While opinions have differed as to the real meaning of this phrase, it has generally been interpreted as legitimizing a situation in which two institutions exist side by side, each with its own laws and chain of authority -- one concerned with religion, called the Church, the other concerned with politics, called the State. And since they are two, they may be joined or separated, subordinate or independent, and conflicts may arise between them over questions of demarcation and jurisdiction.
This formulation of the problems posed by the relations between religion and politics, and the possible solutions to those problems, arise from Christian, not universal, principles and experience. There are other religious traditions in which religion and politics are differently perceived, and in which, therefore, the problems and the possible solutions are radically different from those we know in the West. Most of these traditions, despite their often very high level of sophistication and achievement, remained or became local -- limited to one region or one culture or one people. There is one, however, that in its worldwide distribution, its continuing vitality, its universalist aspirations, can be compared to Christianity, and that is Islam.
Islam is one of the world's great religions
Islam is one of the world's great religions. Let me be explicit about what I, as a historian of Islam who is not a Muslim, mean by that. Islam has brought comfort and peace of mind to countless millions of men and women. It has given dignity and meaning to drab and impoverished lives. It has taught people of different races to live in brotherhood and people of different creeds to live side by side in reasonable tolerance. It inspired a great civilization in which others besides Muslims lived creative and useful lives and which, by its achievement, enriched the whole world. But Islam, like other religions, has also known periods when it inspired in some of its followers a mood of hatred and violence. It is our misfortune that part, though by no means all or even most, of the Muslim world is now going through such a period, and that much, though again not all, of that hatred is directed against us.
We should not exaggerate the dimensions of the problem. The Muslim world is far from unanimous in its rejection of the West, nor have the Muslim regions of the Third World been the most passionate and the most extreme in their hostility. There are still significant numbers, in some quarters perhaps a majority, of Muslims with whom we share certain basic cultural and moral, social and political, beliefs and aspirations; there is still an imposing Western presence -- cultural, economic, diplomatic -- in Muslim lands, some of which are Western allies. Certainly nowhere in the Muslim world, in the Middle East or elsewhere, has American policy suffered disasters or encountered problems comparable to those in Southeast Asia or Central America. There is no Cuba, no Vietnam, in the Muslim world, and no place where American forces are involved as combatants or even as "advisers." But there is a Libya, an Iran, and a Lebanon, and a surge of hatred that distresses, alarms, and above all baffles Americans.
A surge of hatred that distresses, alarms, and above all baffles Americans.
At times this hatred goes beyond hostility to specific interests or actions or policies or even countries and becomes a rejection of Western civilization as such, not only what it does but what it is, and the principles and values that it practices and professes. These are indeed seen as innately evil, and those who promote or accept them as the "enemies of God."
This phrase, which recurs so frequently in the language of the Iranian leadership, in both their judicial proceedings and their political pronouncements, must seem very strange to the modern outsider, whether religious or secular. The idea that God has enemies, and needs human help in order to identify and dispose of them, is a little difficult to assimilate. It is not, however, all that alien. The concept of the enemies of God is familiar in preclassical and classical antiquity, and in both the Old and New Testaments, as well as in the Koran. A particularly relevant version of the idea occurs in the dualist religions of ancient Iran, whose cosmogony assumed not one but two supreme powers. The Zoroastrian devil, unlike the Christian or Muslim or Jewish devil, is not one of God's creatures performing some of God's more mysterious tasks but an independent power, a supreme force of evil engaged in a cosmic struggle against God. This belief influenced a number of Christian, Muslim, and Jewish sects, through Manichaeism and other routes. The almost forgotten religion of the Manichees has given its name to the perception of problems as a stark and simple conflict between matching forces of pure good and pure evil.
The Koran is of course strictly monotheistic, and recognizes one God, one universal power only. There is a struggle in human hearts between good and evil, between God's commandments and the tempter, but this is seen as a struggle ordained by God, with its outcome preordained by God, serving as a test of mankind, and not, as in some of the old dualist religions, a struggle in which mankind has a crucial part to play in bringing about the victory of good over evil. Despite this monotheism, Islam, like Judaism and Christianity, was at various stages influenced, especially in Iran, by the dualist idea of a cosmic clash of good and evil, light and darkness, order and chaos, truth and falsehood, God and the Adversary, variously known as devil, Iblis, Satan, and by other names.
The struggle of good and evil very soon acquired political and even military dimensions
IN Islam the struggle of good and evil very soon acquired political and even military dimensions. Muhammad, it will be recalled, was not only a prophet and a teacher, like the founders of other religions; he was also the head of a polity and of a community, a ruler and a soldier. Hence his struggle involved a state and its armed forces. If the fighters in the war for Islam, the holy war "in the path of God," are fighting for God, it follows that their opponents are fighting against God. And since God is in principle the sovereign, the supreme head of the Islamic state -- and the Prophet and, after the Prophet, the caliphs are his vicegerents -- then God as sovereign commands the army. The army is God's army and the enemy is God's enemy. The duty of God's soldiers is to dispatch God's enemies as quickly as possible to the place where God will chastise them -- that is to say, the afterlife.
Clearly related to this is the basic division of mankind as perceived in Islam. Most, probably all, human societies have a way of distinguishing between themselves and others: insider and outsider, in-group and out-group, kinsman or neighbor and foreigner. These definitions not only define the outsider but also, and perhaps more particularly, help to define and illustrate our perception of ourselves.
In the classical Islamic view, to which many Muslims are beginning to return, the world and all mankind are divided into two: the House of Islam, where the Muslim law and faith prevail, and the rest, known as the House of Unbelief or the House of War, which it is the duty of Muslims ultimately to bring to Islam. But the greater part of the world is still outside Islam, and even inside the Islamic lands, according to the view of the Muslim radicals, the faith of Islam has been undermined and the law of Islam has been abrogated. The obligation of holy war therefore begins at home and continues abroad, against the same infidel enemy.
Like every other civilization known to human history, the Muslim world in its heyday saw itself as the center of truth and enlightenment, surrounded by infidel barbarians whom it would in due course enlighten and civilize. But between the different groups of barbarians there was a crucial difference. The barbarians to the east and the south were polytheists and idolaters, offering no serious threat and no competition at all to Islam. In the north and west, in contrast, Muslims from an early date recognized a genuine rival -- a competing world religion, a distinctive civilization inspired by that religion, and an empire that, though much smaller than theirs, was no less ambitious in its claims and aspirations. This was the entity known to itself and others as Christendom, a term that was long almost identical with Europe.
The Struggle Between the Rival Systems of Islam and Christendom
The struggle between these rival systems has now lasted for some fourteen centuries. It began with the advent of Islam, in the seventh century, and has continued virtually to the present day. It has consisted of a long series of attacks and counterattacks, jihads and crusades, conquests and reconquests. For the first thousand years Islam was advancing, Christendom in retreat and under threat. The new faith conquered the old Christian lands of the Levant and North Africa, and invaded Europe, ruling for a while in Sicily, Spain, Portugal, and even parts of France. The attempt by the Crusaders to recover the lost lands of Christendom in the east was held and thrown back, and even the Muslims' loss of southwestern Europe to the Reconquista was amply compensated by the Islamic advance into southeastern Europe, which twice reached as far as Vienna. For the past three hundred years, since the failure of the second Turkish siege of Vienna in 1683 and the rise of the European colonial empires in Asia and Africa, Islam has been on the defensive, and the Christian and post-Christian civilization of Europe and her daughters has brought the whole world, including Islam, within its orbit.
FOR a long time now there has been a rising tide of rebellion against this Western paramountcy, and a desire to reassert Muslim values and restore Muslim greatness. The Muslim has suffered successive stages of defeat. The first was his loss of domination in the world, to the advancing power of Russia and the West. The second was the undermining of his authority in his own country, through an invasion of foreign ideas and laws and ways of life and sometimes even foreign rulers or settlers, and the enfranchisement of native non-Muslim elements. The third -- the last straw -- was the challenge to his mastery in his own house, from emancipated women and rebellious children. It was too much to endure, and the outbreak of rage against these alien, infidel, and incomprehensible forces that had subverted his dominance, disrupted his society, and finally violated the sanctuary of his home was inevitable. It was also natural that this rage should be directed primarily against the millennial enemy and should draw its strength from ancient beliefs and loyalties.
Europe and her daughters? The phrase may seem odd to Americans, whose national myths, since the beginning of their nationhood and even earlier, have usually defined their very identity in opposition to Europe, as something new and radically different from the old European ways. This is not, however, the way that others have seen it; not often in Europe, and hardly ever elsewhere.
Though people of other races and cultures participated, for the most part involuntarily, in the discovery and creation of the Americas, this was, and in the eyes of the rest of the world long remained, a European enterprise, in which Europeans predominated and dominated and to which Europeans gave their languages, their religions, and much of their way of life.
For a very long time voluntary immigration to America was almost exclusively European. There were indeed some who came from the Muslim lands in the Middle East and North Africa, but few were Muslims; most were members of the Christian and to a lesser extent the Jewish minorities in those countries. Their departure for America, and their subsequent presence in America, must have strengthened rather than lessened the European image of America in Muslim eyes.
In the lands of Islam remarkably little was known about America. At first the voyages of discovery aroused some interest; the only surviving copy of Columbus's own map of America is a Turkish translation and adaptation, still preserved in the Topkapi Palace Museum, in Istanbul. A sixteenth-century Turkish geographer's account of the discovery of the New World, titled The History of Western India, was one of the first books printed in Turkey. But thereafter interest seems to have waned, and not much is said about America in Turkish, Arabic, or other Muslim languages until a relatively late date. A Moroccan ambassador who was in Spain at the time wrote what must surely be the first Arabic account of the American Revolution. The Sultan of Morocco signed a treaty of peace and friendship with the United States in 1787, and thereafter the new republic had a number of dealings, some friendly, some hostile, most commercial, with other Muslim states. These seem to have had little impact on either side. The American Revolution and the American republic to which it gave birth long remained unnoticed and unknown. Even the small but growing American presence in Muslim lands in the nineteenth century -- merchants, consuls, missionaries, and teachers -- aroused little or no curiosity, and is almost unmentioned in the Muslim literature and newspapers of the time.
The Second World War, the oil industry, and postwar developments brought many Americans to the Islamic lands; increasing numbers of Muslims also came to America, first as students, then as teachers or businessmen or other visitors, and eventually as immigrants. Cinema and later television brought the American way of life, or at any rate a certain version of it, before countless millions to whom the very name of America had previously been meaningless or unknown. A wide range of American products, particularly in the immediate postwar years, when European competition was virtually eliminated and Japanese competition had not yet arisen, reached into the remotest markets of the Muslim world, winning new customers and, perhaps more important, creating new tastes and ambitions. For some, America represented freedom and justice and opportunity. For many more, it represented wealth and power and success, at a time when these qualities were not regarded as sins or crimes.
And then came the great change, when the leaders of a widespread and widening religious revival sought out and identified their enemies as the enemies of God, and gave them "a local habitation and a name" in the Western Hemisphere. Suddenly, or so it seemed, America had become the archenemy, the incarnation of evil, the diabolic opponent of all that is good, and specifically, for Muslims, of Islam. Why?
Some Familiar Accusations
Among the components in the mood of anti-Westernism, and more especially of anti-Americanism, were certain intellectual influences coming from Europe. One of these was from Germany, where a negative view of America formed part of a school of thought by no means limited to the Nazis but including writers as diverse as Rainer Maria Rilke, Ernst Junger, and Martin Heidegger. In this perception, America was the ultimate example of civilization without culture: rich and comfortable, materially advanced but soulless and artificial; assembled or at best constructed, not grown; mechanical, not organic; technologically complex but lacking the spirituality and vitality of the rooted, human, national cultures of the Germans and other "authentic" peoples. German philosophy, and particularly the philosophy of education, enjoyed a considerable vogue among Arab and some other Muslim intellectuals in the thirties and early forties, and this philosophic anti-Americanism was part of the message.
After the collapse of the Third Reich and the temporary ending of German influence, another philosophy, even more anti-American, took its place -- the Soviet version of Marxism, with a denunciation of Western capitalism and of America as its most advanced and dangerous embodiment. And when Soviet influence began to fade, there was yet another to take its place, or at least to supplement its working -- the new mystique of Third Worldism, emanating from Western Europe, particularly France, and later also from the United States, and drawing at times on both these earlier philosophies. This mystique was helped by the universal human tendency to invent a golden age in the past, and the specifically European propensity to locate it elsewhere. A new variant of the old golden-age myth placed it in the Third World, where the innocence of the non-Western Adam and Eve was ruined by the Western serpent. This view took as axiomatic the goodness and purity of the East and the wickedness of the West, expanding in an exponential curve of evil from Western Europe to the United States. These ideas, too, fell on fertile ground, and won widespread support.
But though these imported philosophies helped to provide intellectual expression for anti-Westernism and anti-Americanism, they did not cause it, and certainly they do not explain the widespread anti-Westernism that made so many in the Middle East and elsewhere in the Islamic world receptive to such ideas.
It must surely be clear that what won support for such totally diverse doctrines was not Nazi race theory, which can have had little appeal for Arabs, or Soviet atheistic communism, which can have had little appeal for Muslims, but rather their common anti-Westernism. Nazism and communism were the main forces opposed to the West, both as a way of life and as a power in the world, and as such they could count on at least the sympathy if not the support of those who saw in the West their principal enemy.
But why the hostility in the first place? If we turn from the general to the specific, there is no lack of individual policies and actions, pursued and taken by individual Western governments, that have aroused the passionate anger of Middle Eastern and other Islamic peoples. Yet all too often, when these policies are abandoned and the problems resolved, there is only a local and temporary alleviation. The French have left Algeria, the British have left Egypt, the Western oil companies have left their oil wells, the westernizing Shah has left Iran -- yet the generalized resentment of the fundamentalists and other extremists against the West and its friends remains and grows and is not appeased.
The cause most frequently adduced for anti-American feeling among Muslims today is American support for Israel. This support is certainly a factor of importance, increasing with nearness and involvement. But here again there are some oddities, difficult to explain in terms of a single, simple cause. In the early days of the foundation of Israel, while the United States maintained a certain distance, the Soviet Union granted immediate de jure recognition and support, and arms sent from a Soviet satellite, Czechoslovakia, saved the infant state of Israel from defeat and death in its first weeks of life. Yet there seems to have been no great ill will toward the Soviets for these policies, and no corresponding good will toward the United States. In 1956 it was the United States that intervened, forcefully and decisively, to secure the withdrawal of Israeli, British, and French forces from Egypt -- yet in the late fifties and sixties it was to the Soviets, not America, that the rulers of Egypt, Syria, Iraq, and other states turned for arms; it was with the Soviet bloc that they formed bonds of solidarity at the United Nations and in the world generally. More recently, the rulers of the Islamic Republic of Iran have offered the most principled and uncompromising denunciation of Israel and Zionism. Yet even these leaders, before as well as after the death of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, when they decided for reasons of their own to enter into a dialogue of sorts, found it easier to talk to Jerusalem than to Washington. At the same time, Western hostages in Lebanon, many of them devoted to Arab causes and some of them converts to Islam, are seen and treated by their captors as limbs of the Great Satan.
Another explanation, more often heard from Muslim dissidents, attributes anti-American feeling to American support for hated regimes, seen as reactionary by radicals, as impious by conservatives, as corrupt and tyrannical by both. This accusation has some plausibility, and could help to explain why an essentially inner-directed, often anti-nationalist movement should turn against a foreign power. But it does not suffice, especially since support for such regimes has been limited both in extent and -- as the Shah discovered -- in effectiveness.
Clearly, something deeper is involved than these specific grievances, numerous and important as they may be -- something deeper that turns every disagreement into a problem and makes every problem insoluble.
This revulsion against America, more generally against the West, is by no means limited to the Muslim world; nor have Muslims, with the exception of the Iranian mullahs and their disciples elsewhere, experienced and exhibited the more virulent forms of this feeling. The mood of disillusionment and hostility has affected many other parts of the world, and has even reached some elements in the United States. It is from these last, speaking for themselves and claiming to speak for the oppressed peoples of the Third World, that the most widely publicized explanations -- and justifications -- of this rejection of Western civilization and its values have of late been heard.
The accusations are familiar. We of the West are accused of sexism, racism, and imperialism, institutionalized in patriarchy and slavery, tyranny and exploitation. To these charges, and to others as heinous, we have no option but to plead guilty -- not as Americans, nor yet as Westerners, but simply as human beings, as members of the human race. In none of these sins are we the only sinners, and in some of them we are very far from being the worst. The treatment of women in the Western world, and more generally in Christendom, has always been unequal and often oppressive, but even at its worst it was rather better than the rule of polygamy and concubinage that has otherwise been the almost universal lot of womankind on this planet.
Is racism, then, the main grievance? Certainly the word figures prominently in publicity addressed to Western, Eastern European, and some Third World audiences. It figures less prominently in what is written and published for home consumption, and has become a generalized and meaningless term of abuse -- rather like "fascism," which is nowadays imputed to opponents even by spokesmen for one-party, nationalist dictatorships of various complexions and shirt colors.
Slavery is today universally denounced as an offense against humanity, but within living memory it has been practiced and even defended as a necessary institution, established and regulated by divine law. The peculiarity of the peculiar institution, as Americans once called it, lay not in its existence but in its abolition. Westerners were the first to break the consensus of acceptance and to outlaw slavery, first at home, then in the other territories they controlled, and finally wherever in the world they were able to exercise power or influence -- in a word, by means of imperialism.
Is imperialism, then, the grievance? Some Western powers, and in a sense Western civilization as a whole, have certainly been guilty of imperialism, but are we really to believe that in the expansion of Western Europe there was a quality of moral delinquency lacking in such earlier, relatively innocent expansions as those of the Arabs or the Mongols or the Ottomans, or in more recent expansions such as that which brought the rulers of Muscovy to the Baltic, the Black Sea, the Caspian, the Hindu Kush, and the Pacific Ocean? In having practiced sexism, racism, and imperialism, the West was merely following the common practice of mankind through the millennia of recorded history. Where it is distinct from all other civilizations is in having recognized, named, and tried, not entirely without success, to remedy these historic diseases. And that is surely a matter for congratulation, not condemnation. We do not hold Western medical science in general, or Dr. Parkinson and Dr. Alzheimer in particular, responsible for the diseases they diagnosed and to which they gave their names.
Of all these offenses the one that is most widely, frequently, and vehemently denounced is undoubtedly imperialism -- sometimes just Western, sometimes Eastern (that is, Soviet) and Western alike. But the way this term is used in the literature of Islamic fundamentalists often suggests that it may not carry quite the same meaning for them as for its Western critics. In many of these writings the term "imperialist" is given a distinctly religious significance, being used in association, and sometimes interchangeably, with "missionary," and denoting a form of attack that includes the Crusades as well as the modern colonial empires. One also sometimes gets the impression that the offense of imperialism is not -- as for Western critics -- the domination by one people over another but rather the allocation of roles in this relationship. What is truly evil and unacceptable is the domination of infidels over true believers. For true believers to rule misbelievers is proper and natural, since this provides for the maintenance of the holy law, and gives the misbelievers both the opportunity and the incentive to embrace the true faith. But for misbelievers to rule over true believers is blasphemous and unnatural, since it leads to the corruption of religion and morality in society, and to the flouting or even the abrogation of God's law. This may help us to understand the current troubles in such diverse places as Ethiopian Eritrea, Indian Kashmir, Chinese Sinkiang, and Yugoslav Kossovo, in all of which Muslim populations are ruled by non-Muslim governments. It may also explain why spokesmen for the new Muslim minorities in Western Europe demand for Islam a degree of legal protection which those countries no longer give to Christianity and have never given to Judaism. Nor, of course, did the governments of the countries of origin of these Muslim spokesmen ever accord such protection to religions other than their own. In their perception, there is no contradiction in these attitudes. The true faith, based on God's final revelation, must be protected from insult and abuse; other faiths, being either false or incomplete, have no right to any such protection.
THERE are other difficulties in the way of accepting imperialism as an explanation of Muslim hostility, even if we define imperialism narrowly and specifically, as the invasion and domination of Muslim countries by non-Muslims. If the hostility is directed against imperialism in that sense, why has it been so much stronger against Western Europe, which has relinquished all its Muslim possessions and dependencies, than against Russia, which still rules, with no light hand, over many millions of reluctant Muslim subjects and over ancient Muslim cities and countries? And why should it include the United States, which, apart from a brief interlude in the Muslim-minority area of the Philippines, has never ruled any Muslim population? The last surviving European empire with Muslim subjects, that of the Soviet Union, far from being the target of criticism and attack, has been almost exempt. Even the most recent repressions of Muslim revolts in the southern and central Asian republics of the USSR incurred no more than relatively mild words of expostulation, coupled with a disclaimer of any desire to interfere in what are quaintly called the "internal affairs" of the USSR and a request for the preservation of order and tranquillity on the frontier.
One reason for this somewhat surprising restraint is to be found in the nature of events in Soviet Azerbaijan. Islam is obviously an important and potentially a growing element in the Azerbaijani sense of identity, but it is not at present a dominant element, and the Azerbaijani movement has more in common with the liberal patriotism of Europe than with Islamic fundamentalism. Such a movement would not arouse the sympathy of the rulers of the Islamic Republic. It might even alarm them, since a genuinely democratic national state run by the people of Soviet Azerbaijan would exercise a powerful attraction on their kinsmen immediately to the south, in Iranian Azerbaijan.
Another reason for this relative lack of concern for the 50 million or more Muslims under Soviet rule may be a calculation of risk and advantage. The Soviet Union is near, along the northern frontiers of Turkey, Iran, and Afghanistan; America and even Western Europe are far away. More to the point, it has not hitherto been the practice of the Soviets to quell disturbances with water cannon and rubber bullets, with TV cameras in attendance, or to release arrested persons on bail and allow them access to domestic and foreign media. The Soviets do not interview their harshest critics on prime time, or tempt them with teaching, lecturing, and writing engagements. On the contrary, their ways of indicating displeasure with criticism can often be quite disagreeable.
But fear of reprisals, though no doubt important, is not the only or perhaps even the principal reason for the relatively minor place assigned to the Soviet Union, as compared with the West, in the demonology of fundamentalism. After all, the great social and intellectual and economic changes that have transformed most of the Islamic world, and given rise to such commonly denounced Western evils as consumerism and secularism, emerged from the West, not from the Soviet Union. No one could accuse the Soviets of consumerism; their materialism is philosophic -- to be precise, dialectical -- and has little or nothing to do in practice with providing the good things of life. Such provision represents another kind of materialism, often designated by its opponents as crass. It is associated with the capitalist West and not with the communist East, which has practiced, or at least imposed on its subjects, a degree of austerity that would impress a Sufi saint.
Nor were the Soviets, until very recently, vulnerable to charges of secularism, the other great fundamentalist accusation against the West. Though atheist, they were not godless, and had in fact created an elaborate state apparatus to impose the worship of their gods -- an apparatus with its own orthodoxy, a hierarchy to define and enforce it, and an armed inquisition to detect and extirpate heresy. The separation of religion from the state does not mean the establishment of irreligion by the state, still less the forcible imposition of an anti-religious philosophy. Soviet secularism, like Soviet consumerism, holds no temptation for the Muslim masses, and is losing what appeal it had for Muslim intellectuals. More than ever before it is Western capitalism and democracy that provide an authentic and attractive alternative to traditional ways of thought and life. Fundamentalist leaders are not mistaken in seeing in Western civilization the greatest challenge to the way of life that they wish to retain or restore for their people.
A Clash of Civilizations
THE origins of secularism in the west may be found in two circumstances -- in early Christian teachings and, still more, experience, which created two institutions, Church and State; and in later Christian conflicts, which drove the two apart. Muslims, too, had their religious disagreements, but there was nothing remotely approaching the ferocity of the Christian struggles between Protestants and Catholics, which devastated Christian Europe in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and finally drove Christians in desperation to evolve a doctrine of the separation of religion from the state. Only by depriving religious institutions of coercive power, it seemed, could Christendom restrain the murderous intolerance and persecution that Christians had visited on followers of other religions and, most of all, on those who professed other forms of their own.
There was no need for "Separation of Church and State" in Islam
Muslims experienced no such need and evolved no such doctrine. There was no need for secularism in Islam, and even its pluralism was very different from that of the pagan Roman Empire, so vividly described by Edward Gibbon when he remarked that "the various modes of worship, which prevailed in the Roman world, were all considered by the people, as equally true; by the philosopher, as equally false; and by the magistrate, as equally useful." Islam was never prepared, either in theory or in practice, to accord full equality to those who held other beliefs and practiced other forms of worship. It did, however, accord to the holders of partial truth a degree of practical as well as theoretical tolerance rarely paralleled in the Christian world until the West adopted a measure of secularism in the late-seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
At first the Muslim response to Western civilization was one of admiration and emulation -- an immense respect for the achievements of the West, and a desire to imitate and adopt them. This desire arose from a keen and growing awareness of the weakness, poverty, and backwardness of the Islamic world as compared with the advancing West. The disparity first became apparent on the battlefield but soon spread to other areas of human activity. Muslim writers observed and described the wealth and power of the West, its science and technology, its manufactures, and its forms of government. For a time the secret of Western success was seen to lie in two achievements: economic advancement and especially industry; political institutions and especially freedom. Several generations of reformers and modernizers tried to adapt these and introduce them to their own countries, in the hope that they would thereby be able to achieve equality with the West and perhaps restore their lost superiority.
In our own time this mood of admiration and emulation has, among many Muslims, given way to one of hostility and rejection. In part this mood is surely due to a feeling of humiliation -- a growing awareness, among the heirs of an old, proud, and long dominant civilization, of having been overtaken, overborne, and overwhelmed by those whom they regarded as their inferiors. In part this mood is due to events in the Western world itself. One factor of major importance was certainly the impact of two great suicidal wars, in which Western civilization tore itself apart, bringing untold destruction to its own and other peoples, and in which the belligerents conducted an immense propaganda effort, in the Islamic world and elsewhere, to discredit and undermine each other. The message they brought found many listeners, who were all the more ready to respond in that their own experience of Western ways was not happy. The introduction of Western commercial, financial, and industrial methods did indeed bring great wealth, but it accrued to transplanted Westerners and members of Westernized minorities, and to only a few among the mainstream Muslim population. In time these few became more numerous, but they remained isolated from the masses, differing from them even in their dress and style of life. Inevitably they were seen as agents of and collaborators with what was once again regarded as a hostile world. Even the political institutions that had come from the West were discredited, being judged not by their Western originals but by their local imitations, installed by enthusiastic Muslim reformers. These, operating in a situation beyond their control, using imported and inappropriate methods that they did not fully understand, were unable to cope with the rapidly developing crises and were one by one overthrown. For vast numbers of Middle Easterners, Western-style economic methods brought poverty, Western-style political institutions brought tyranny, even Western-style warfare brought defeat. It is hardly surprising that so many were willing to listen to voices telling them that the old Islamic ways were best and that their only salvation was to throw aside the pagan innovations of the reformers and return to the True Path that God had prescribed for his people.
The Struggle of Fundamentalists against Secularism and Modernism
ULTIMATELY, the struggle of the fundamentalists is against two enemies, secularism and modernism. The war against secularism is conscious and explicit, and there is by now a whole literature denouncing secularism as an evil neo-pagan force in the modern world and attributing it variously to the Jews, the West, and the United States. The war against modernity is for the most part neither conscious nor explicit, and is directed against the whole process of change that has taken place in the Islamic world in the past century or more and has transformed the political, economic, social, and even cultural structures of Muslim countries. Islamic fundamentalism has given an aim and a form to the otherwise aimless and formless resentment and anger of the Muslim masses at the forces that have devalued their traditional values and loyalties and, in the final analysis, robbed them of their beliefs, their aspirations, their dignity, and to an increasing extent even their livelihood.
There is something in the religious culture of Islam which inspired, in even the humblest peasant or peddler, a dignity and a courtesy toward others never exceeded and rarely equalled in other civilizations. And yet, in moments of upheaval and disruption, when the deeper passions are stirred, this dignity and courtesy toward others can give way to an explosive mixture of rage and hatred which impels even the government of an ancient and civilized country -- even the spokesman of a great spiritual and ethical religion -- to espouse kidnapping and assassination, and try to find, in the life of their Prophet, approval and indeed precedent for such actions.
The instinct of the masses is not false in locating the ultimate source of these cataclysmic changes in the West and in attributing the disruption of their old way of life to the impact of Western domination, Western influence, or Western precept and example. And since the United States is the legitimate heir of European civilization and the recognized and unchallenged leader of the West, the United States has inherited the resulting grievances and become the focus for the pent-up hate and anger. Two examples may suffice. In November of 1979 an angry mob attacked and burned the U.S. Embassy in Islamabad, Pakistan. The stated cause of the crowd's anger was the seizure of the Great Mosque in Mecca by a group of Muslim dissidents -- an event in which there was no American involvement whatsoever. Almost ten years later, in February of 1989, again in Islamabad, the USIS center was attacked by angry crowds, this time to protest the publication of Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses. Rushdie is a British citizen of Indian birth, and his book had been published five months previously in England. But what provoked the mob's anger, and also the Ayatollah Khomeini's subsequent pronouncement of a death sentence on the author, was the publication of the book in the United States.
It should by now be clear that we are facing a mood and a movement far transcending the level of issues and policies and the governments that pursue them. This is no less than a clash of civilizations -- the perhaps irrational but surely historic reaction of an ancient rival against our Judeo-Christian heritage, our secular present, and the worldwide expansion of both. It is crucially important that we on our side should not be provoked into an equally historic but also equally irrational reaction against that rival.
Copyright © 1990 by Bernard Lewis. All rights reserved.
The Atlantic Monthly; September 1990; The Roots of Muslim Rage; Volume 266, No. 3; pages 47 - 60.
Friday, February 03, 2012
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Globalisation vernaculaire
Selon Arjun Appadurai, la mondialisation serait avant tout le flux, la circulation : d’informations et de biens, d’images et de messages, de touristes et d’émigrés. C’est la création de « publics », à savoir de minorités, de diasporas, au sein des pays riches. Ces personnes déplacées utilisent les flux d’informations à leur disposition pour créer des « communautés » réticulaires et rester en contact avec toute leur diaspora et le pays d’origine.
« Les moyens de communication électroniques et les migrations de masse s’imposent aujourd’hui comme des forces nouvelles, mais moins sur un plan technique que sur le plan de l’imaginaire », écrit l’anthropologue. Le capitalisme mondial, en stimulant les flux migratoires et médiatiques, arrache ainsi les hommes à leurs terroirs et à leurs traditions, noyant les appartenances locales dans la grande promesse de la modernité technologique universelle. Mais en même temps, grâce au numérique, il permet aux nomades de conserver des liens robustes avec leur culture d’origine. C’est cette évolution contradictoire, suggère Appadurai, qui opère une métamorphose décisive : l’imaginaire individuel et collectif et le travail mental quotidien des gens ordinaires en sont radicalement trans-formés. Bricolant au service de leurs finalités singulières des éléments venus de partout, chacun, dans l’exil, se fabrique ainsi de nouvelles iden-tités sources de communautés inédites. Le travail de l’imagination collective (ou de l’imaginaire) est ici l’élément clé.
« Telle serait la leçon majeure de la mondialisation : comme il n’y a plus de dehors, et plus d’altérité radicale, les relations de chaque groupe avec son passé, avec lui-même, avec les autres, se réinventent. Cette multiplicité de constructions identitaires rend caduque la représentation d’une culture liée de manière fixe à un lieu et un mode de vie. Le « local » n’est pas un endroit géographiquement défini une fois pour toutes. Dans le monde global, il ne cesse de s’inventer selon des localisations diverses » .
Il estime que loin d’appauvrir l’invention culturelle, d’uniformiser les créations, d’abêtir les peuples, la mondialisation permet des déploiements inédits de l’imagination collective, stimule la fabrication d’identités ori-ginales. Car il n’y a «rien de plus international que la formation des identités nationales »
Appadurai le redit explicitement, « la globalisation n’est pas l’histoire d’une homogénéisation culturelle. » En d’autres termes, le processus de mondialisation est plus complexe qu’il n’y paraît : loin d’être une simple imposition d’un modèle, américain en l’occurrence, à l’ensemble de la planète, la globalisation suscite des processus de ré-appropriation des signes associés à la modernité capitaliste selon des stratégies identitaires - ces signes vont fonctionner ou seront mobilisés en fonction des historicités des groupes et des cultures, et en fonction des imaginaires historiquement situés (Castoriadis).
« Les moyens de communication électroniques et les migrations de masse s’imposent aujourd’hui comme des forces nouvelles, mais moins sur un plan technique que sur le plan de l’imaginaire », écrit l’anthropologue. Le capitalisme mondial, en stimulant les flux migratoires et médiatiques, arrache ainsi les hommes à leurs terroirs et à leurs traditions, noyant les appartenances locales dans la grande promesse de la modernité technologique universelle. Mais en même temps, grâce au numérique, il permet aux nomades de conserver des liens robustes avec leur culture d’origine. C’est cette évolution contradictoire, suggère Appadurai, qui opère une métamorphose décisive : l’imaginaire individuel et collectif et le travail mental quotidien des gens ordinaires en sont radicalement trans-formés. Bricolant au service de leurs finalités singulières des éléments venus de partout, chacun, dans l’exil, se fabrique ainsi de nouvelles iden-tités sources de communautés inédites. Le travail de l’imagination collective (ou de l’imaginaire) est ici l’élément clé.
« Telle serait la leçon majeure de la mondialisation : comme il n’y a plus de dehors, et plus d’altérité radicale, les relations de chaque groupe avec son passé, avec lui-même, avec les autres, se réinventent. Cette multiplicité de constructions identitaires rend caduque la représentation d’une culture liée de manière fixe à un lieu et un mode de vie. Le « local » n’est pas un endroit géographiquement défini une fois pour toutes. Dans le monde global, il ne cesse de s’inventer selon des localisations diverses » .
Il estime que loin d’appauvrir l’invention culturelle, d’uniformiser les créations, d’abêtir les peuples, la mondialisation permet des déploiements inédits de l’imagination collective, stimule la fabrication d’identités ori-ginales. Car il n’y a «rien de plus international que la formation des identités nationales »
Appadurai le redit explicitement, « la globalisation n’est pas l’histoire d’une homogénéisation culturelle. » En d’autres termes, le processus de mondialisation est plus complexe qu’il n’y paraît : loin d’être une simple imposition d’un modèle, américain en l’occurrence, à l’ensemble de la planète, la globalisation suscite des processus de ré-appropriation des signes associés à la modernité capitaliste selon des stratégies identitaires - ces signes vont fonctionner ou seront mobilisés en fonction des historicités des groupes et des cultures, et en fonction des imaginaires historiquement situés (Castoriadis).
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Casting Out: The Eviction of Muslims from Western Law and Politics (1)
By Sherene H.Razack , University of Toronto Press
http://www.utppublishing.com/
http://www.utppublishing.com/product.php?productid=2337&cat=0&page=1
« Hannah Arendt argued that Holocaust history shows that Jews were perceived and treated by German society as marginal and expendable long before their extermination was acted out. Casting Out shows the complex ways in which Muslims in the West are slowly being driven to become today's exterminables. This is not where its merit ends, however. It is worth remembering that the Holocaust was not a historical inevitability. Those struggling against the dark forces of extermination can succeed, and this book is certainly part of this important struggle. » Ghassan Hage, Professor of Anthropology, University of Sydney.
“Three allegorical figures have come to dominate the social landscape of the 'war on terror' and its ideological underpinning of a clash of civilizations: the dangerous Muslim man, the imperilled Muslim woman, and the civilized European, the latter a figure who is seldom explicitly named but who nevertheless anchors the first two figures. This book explores some of the places in law and society in the West where these figures animate a story about a family of white nations, a civilization, obliged to use force and terror to defend itself against a menacing cultural Other. The story is not just a story, of course, but is the narrative scaffold for the making of an empire dominated by the United States and the white nations who are its allies. Supplying the governing logic of several laws and legal processes, both in North America and in Europe, the story underwrites the expulsion of Muslims from political community, a casting out that takes the form of stigmatization, surveillance, incarceration, abandonment, torture, and bombs. “
[...]
“In this book I offer two interlinked arguments about the contemporary context of the 'war on terror'. First, race thinking, the denial of a common bond of humanity between people of European descent and those who are not, remains a defining feature of the world order. Second, this 'colour-lined' world is one increasingly governed by the logic of the exception and the camps of abandoned or 'rightless' people it creates. The camp, created as a state of exception, is a place where, paradoxically, the law has determined that the rule of law does not apply. Since there is no common bond of humanity between the camp's inmates and those outside, there is no common law. For those marked as outside humanity, law reserves the space of the exception. I argue in this book that the abandonment of populations, an abandonment configured as emergency, is accomplished as a racial project.
It is now widely argued that today's empire is most distinguished by the proliferation of camps and by the culture of exception that underpins the eviction of increasing numbers of people from political community. Camps range from those whose inmates are 'terror' suspects wearing black hoods (as the cover of this book shows) to those of asylum seekers and their children, facilities hidden away in the deserts of Australia or the suburbs of Texas and Toronto, camps for migrant workers on the Niagara peninsula where workers live in barrack-like surroundings and do not have freedom of movement, and conventional prisons whose inmates nevertheless do not enjoy prisoners' rights and spend long periods in solitary confinement. Camps may even extend to an entire state, as several have argued of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. All such spaces are distinguished by a legally authorized suspension of law and the creation of communities of people without 'the rights to have rights', as Hannah Arendt put it long ago when describing the impact of the First World War and the creation of large groups of people who were homeless, stateless, and 'rightless'. Camps are places where the rules of the world cease to apply.
Communities without the right to have rights are significantly different from communities who are merely discriminated against. They are constituted as a different order of humanity altogether by the virtue of having no political community willing to guarantee their rights, and whatever is meted out to the 'rightless' becomes of no concern to others. Indeed, their very expulsion from political community fortifies the nation state. As Hanson and Stepputat observe:
The expulsion of someone who used to have rights as a citizen, or simply to categorize some individuals in a society as a form of life that is beyond the reach of dignity and full humanity and thus not even a subject of a benevolent power, is the most elementary operation of sovereign power – be it as a government in a nation-state, a local authority, a community, a warlord, or a local militia.
For many who observe the increasing numbers of 'rightless' people and the creation of camps, it is clear that those most often evicted from political community are racialized. I am particularly interested in how such evictions of racialized peoples make possible the production of white identities – as kin groups, families, nations. Materially and symbolically, camps help to create and sustain a racial and neoliberal order in which white people come to know themselves as a superior people, a community that must fortify itself against pre-modern racial Others who do not share its values, beliefs, practices, and level of civility. Such a racially homogeneous community is nevertheless one made up of subjects who imagine themselves as raceless individuals, consumers, and agents without defining links to community – in other words, as citizens who have the freedom to make their own choices.
Race Thinking
To understand the place of race in the concept of a modern world menaced by a pre-modern one, a world of camps, it is useful to consider what Hannah Arendt, in The origins of Totalitarianism, called race thinking. Race thinking is a structure of thought that divides up the world between the deserving and the undeserving according to descent. As Irene Silverblatt has suggested, race thinking encapsulates a much broader phenomenon than racism, since it refers to 'any mode of construing and engaging social hierarchies through the lens of descent. Race thinking enables us to understand 'how a relatively innocent category (like color) could become virulent, how politically defined characteristics (like nationality) could so easily become inheritable traits. In our context, race thinking reveals itself in the phrase 'Canadian values' or 'American values', uttered so sanctimoniously by prime ministers and presidents when they articulate what is being defended in the 'war on terror'. Drawing on the modern idea of race traced by David Goldberg as 'shared social characteristics, ones perhaps deemed as natural properties of the group', and bolstered by what Goldberg identifies as the fourth features of race thinking (the rhetoric of descent, claims of common origins, a sense of kinship and belonging, and the naturalization of social relations), values talk conceals the hierarchy it expresses. Echoing a long-standing imperial belief that Northern peoples possessed an innate ability to govern themselves and were by nature more rational (for Rudyard Kipling, it was 'the climate that puts iron and grit into men's bones'), these statements simply reinstall bloodlines through the idea that some groups have a greater innate capacity for rationality than others.
For Arendt, who drew on Erich Voegelin, race thinking matures into racism through its use as a political weapon. Racism's graduation from an obscure free opinion to a full-fledged ideology occurred with imperialism and the 'fateful days of the scramble for Africa.' In imperialism, race thinking combined with bureaucracy, 'the organization of the great game of expansion in which every area was considered a stepping stone to further involvements and every people an instrument for further conquest. As a 'scavenger ideology' (to use George Mosse's words), race thinking picks up political projects here and there and annexes itself to ideas such as evolutionnist doctrines or romanticism with its notions of inherited genius, eventually growing into the full-blown power of racism. We may not find that President Georges W.Bush pursues a race project as single-mindedly as did Adolf Hitler, but we can see how race thinking (the clash of a modern and pre-modern civilization) is annexed to a political project (control of oil, capitalist accumulation, power) and erupts into a full-blown racism when united with ideas about universal values, individualism, and the market.
When race thinking unites with bureaucracy, when, in others words, it is systematized and attached to a project of accumulation, it loses its standing as a prejudice and becomes instead an organizing principle. In our time, one result is a securitized state in which it is possible to know that 'the passenger who has ordered a special meal is non-smoking Muslim in seat 3K' and to arrange for that passenger's eviction from the aircraft. Racial distinctions become so routinized that a racial hierarchy is maintained without requiring the component of individual actors who are personally hostile towards Muslims. Increasing numbers of people find themselves exiled from political community through bureaucratic processes in which each state official can claim, as did Adolf Eichmann about arranging the transport of Jews to Nazi Germany, that he was only doing his duty. In the 'war on terror', race thinking accustoms us to the idea that the suspension of rights is warranted in the interests of national security. Captured in the phrase 'they are not like us', and also necessarily in the idea that 'they' must be killed so that 'we' can live, race thinking becomes embedded in law and bureaucracy so that the suspension of rights appears not as a violence but as the law itself. Violence against the racialized Other comes to be understood as necessary in order for civilization to flourish, something the state must do to preserve itself. Race thinking, Silverblatt reminds us in her study of the Spanish Inquisition, usually comes clothed in an 'aura of rationality and civilization.'
Although race thinking varies, for Muslims and Arabs it is underpinned by the idea that modern enlightened, secular peoples must protect themselves from pre-modern, religious peoples whose loyalty to tribe and community reigns over their commitment to the rule of law. The marking of belonging to the realm of culture and religion, as opposed to the realm of law and reason, has devastating consequences. There is a disturbing spatializing of morality that occurs in the story of pre-modern peoples versus modern ones. We have reason; they do not. We are located in modernity; they are not. Significantly because they have not advanced as we have, it is our moral obligation to correct, discipline, and keep them in line and to defend ourselves against their irrational excesses. In doing all of these things, the West has often denied the benefits of modernity to those it considers to be outside of it. Evicted from the universal, and thus from civilization and progress, the non-West occupies a zone outside the law. Violence may be directed at it with impunity.
To divide up the world between the civilized and the uncivilized according to a line of descent requires a racially delineated community of 'original' citizens, a 'volk' constituted against foreigners. Foucault has argued that the modern state, in constituting itself as sovereign and as having the power over life, requires racism. Racism enables us to live with the murderous function of the state and to understand the killing of Others as a way of purifying and regenerating one's own race: 'The fact that the other dies does not mean simply that I live in the sense that his death guarantees my safety; the death of the other, the death of the bad race, of the inferior race (or the degenerate, or the abnormal) is something that will make life in general healthier: healthier and purer.' George Mosse developed a related argument with respect to European racism, pointing out that racism is 'no mere articulation of prejudice,' but is instead 'a fully blown system of thought.'
All racists held to a certain concept of beauty – white and classical – to middle-class virtues of work, of moderation and honor, and thought that these were exemplified through outward appearance. Most racists consequently endowed inferior races whether black or Jew with several identical properties such as lack of beauty, and charged them with the lack of those middle-class virtues, and finally with lack of any metaphysical depth.
In the context of Nazi Germany, Mosse has written, racism “defended utopia against its enemies.' Racism could embrace people who were not themselves racists, Mosse argued, principally through appeal to 'the thought that some had to be killed so that others could live to the full.' When we look for signs of racism's presence, then, it is not simply to be found in the racial hostility some individuals bear towards others not of their race, but also in the ideas that the state must protect itself from those who do not share its values, ideals of beauty, and middle-class virtues. It is by virtue of the foreigner's inherent difference (manifested, as Mosse has suggested, through outward appearance, including cultural and religious practices and accent) to an imagined homogeneous citizenry, a difference understood as inferiority, that states make the claim that utopia is threatened and invoke state-of-exception measures.
The Camp
Legal measures that suspend rights in the interests of national security have been variously described as state-of-exception, state-of-emergency, war measures or state-of-siege measures. Whether they are found in immigration provisions, as are Canadian security certificates, whereby detainees are not entitled to see all the evidence against them, or in anti-terrorism acts, they share the paradox that they are laws that suspend the rule of law. It should be noted that the threats against which society must be defended, to use Foucault's memorable phrase, are multiple. As Balibar has observed, they can be threats 'stemming from the economic forces of 'globalization', 'criminal' immigration networks, religious or cultural 'communitarianism', and finally cosmopolitan intellectuals and nongovernmental organizations that allow themselves to be seduced by a 'postnational' ideology. As Aihwa Ong argues, at the heart of neoliberalism is the idea and the practice of the exception, the notion that the government has the right to do anything in the interest of governance. Capital constructs spaces of exception, and a graduated or variegated sovereignty – where, for example, corporations have the right to suspend the law – is the hallmark of neoliberalism. Exceptions operate with varying regimes of in carceration, imprisoning some in migrant worker camps or domestic worker zones and confining others within gated communities but removing all such communities from the reach of the law.
There is now a great deal of scholarly attention given to states of exception and to the camps they authorize, not only because the 'war on terror' has brought us Guantanamo Bay with its inmates who are held without charge and indefinitely detained, but also because of the large numbers of migrants and refugees in detention centres throughout the Western world. It is useful to recall that before it became an interrogation centre for terror suspects in the 1990s, Guantanamo Bay held Haitian refugees who were declared to pose an HIV threat. The Clinton administration attempted to justify the inhumane treatment meted out to these refugees on the grounds that Guantanamo was a law-free zone. The 'war on terror' did not mark the beginning of a resurgence of camps or the spread of camp logic. Indeed, when, in 1995, Zygmunt Bauman posed the question of whether or not the twentieth century would be remembered as 'the age of camps', he had in mind Auschwitz, the Soviet Gulag, the Rwandan genocide, refugee camps, and prisons in the United States with their ever-growing populations of colour and their increasing suspensions of prisoners' rights. Similarly, Giorgio Agamben, in Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life (1995), analyses the stadium in Baril (where Italian police rounded up illegal Albanian immigrants in 1991 before deporting them) as a camp. Agamben's examples include airport detention centres for refugees and the camps into which the Weimar government rounded up Jews.
What the 'war on terror' has prompted, however, is an answer in the affirmative to Bauman's question. The camp has become the rule, and our culture is now globally one of exception. [...]Camps then, are not simply contemporary excesses born of the West's current quest for security, but instead represent a more ominous, permanent arrangement of who is and is not a part of the human community. The exception, Ong shows, produces new kinds of citizens, principally those who are subjected to neoliberal considerations and those who are excluded from it. Cautioning us that it would be a mistake to understand citizenship as structured by a simple opposition between those within the state and those outside of it, Ong emphasizes that the exception be considered as a practice of governance. It can create 'new economic possibilities, spaces and techniques for governing a population.'
With this caution in mind, we can consider the logic of the exception, its confirmation of sovereign power, its multiple practices of inclusion and exclusion, as sustaining a neoliberal and racial order that is nonetheless one filled with contradictions and fissures.
Law and the Right to Punish Strangers
Because suspensions of the rule of law turn on a logic that normative citizens must be protected from those who threaten the social order, a category to which race gives content, those who consider themselves 'unmarked' or original easily find them defensible. Agamben has proposed that we see the state of exception as the 'preliminary condition' for understanding the relationship of law to the living. Following his own directions, and understanding a state of exception as 'a legal civil war that allows for the physical elimination not only of political adversaries but of entire categories of citizens who for some reason cannot be integrated into the political system. Agamben takes us on a sobering journey through American, English, Italian, and German law to show how states of exception become lasting practices of government that enable the state to mark who is a member of political community and who is not. Although we might contest the rigidity of Agamben's account, it is the extraordinary power to cast out that he documents that should stop us in our tracks. Offering a contemporary example, Agamben writes of the 13 November 2001 American presidential decree that authorizes indefinite detention and hearing by military tribunal of non-citizens suspected of involvement in terrorist activity. While aliens suspected of terrorist activity could be taken into custody under the Patriot Act, the 13 November presidential decree 'radically erases any legal status of the individual, thus producing a legally unnamable and unclassifiable being.
Neither prisoners nor persons accused, but simple 'detainees' they [the prisoners at Guantanamo Bay] aer the object of a pure de facto rule, of a detention that is indefinite not only in the temporal sense but in its very nature as well, since it is entirely removed from the law and from judicial oversight. The only thing to which it could possibly be compared is the legal situation of the Jews in the Nazi lager [camps], who, along with their citizenship, had lost every legal identity, but at least retained their identity as Jews.
Several scholars draw attention to the relationship between race, violence, and the law that are evident in states of exception. In pointing out that the slave plantation was a space of exception, Paul Gilroy reminds us not to overlook 'how colonial societies and conflicts provided the context in which concentration camps emerged as a political administration, population management, warfare, and coerced labor. It is the idea of a modern civilization encountering a pre-modern one that produced the colonial world as 'a permanent, tropical exception from common law applicable in Europe,' Hansen and Stepputat note. What the state of exception made possible in the colonies was a brutal inscription of the power of the colonizers on the bodies of the colonized, a violence that was legally authorized. Such violence became socially acceptable, Edward Said brilliantly showed, through ideas that the colonized only understand force and cannot be governed through the rule of law as it applied to Europeans.
Race perpetually tested the limits of universal law and the exception resolved this tension by providing two different regimes of law under one banner. Mbembe shows for the African context how colonial governance was based on a state of exception, with bureaucrats and company officials possessing a different power than other citizens. The violence of such regimes acted as authority and as morality, instructing all in the power of the law and its spaces of non-law, and consequently in who belonged to political community and who did not. Nasser Hussain provides an example of the logic of the jurisprudence of emergency as authority and morality in his analysis of the amritsar massacre in nineteenth-century British India. Relying on the authority of martial law, the British General Dyer ordered his troops to fire into a crowd of Indians until 379 lay dead and thousands injured. Despite the best efforts of the Home Office to depict Dyer's actions as those of a madman driven to excesses, Dyer himself explained his behaviour as duty – the duty to teach the natives a lesson or, in his words, 'to produce a sufficient moral effect from a military point of view. The killing would have gone on, Dyer asserted, until the lesson was learnt. Only the lack of bullets stopped it. Dyer, Hussain comments, 'unabashedly links the performativity of violence to the project of moral education,' understanding completely that martial law's purpose was none other than the reconstitution of the authority of the state and the inscription of obedience on the bodies of the colonized.
Through emergency, colonial law provided for its own failure, a practice born out of the need to set up a political system that both maintained the rule of law and was able to respond to the exigencies of the colonial situation, one that was rife with 'dissent, and 'disobedience'.
Wherever sovereign power is exercised, and whether or not the performances of sovereignty are spectacular and public as they were in the Amritsar massacre or appear as 'scientific/technical rationalities of management and punishment of bodies, as I shall argue they are in terror arrests and security certificate hearings, such power remains embedded in the idea of the citizen and thus in the boundary between members of political community and those outside of it. Violence is 'fetishized as a weapon of reason and preservation of freedom of the citizens vis-à-vis the threats from outsiders, from internal enemies, and from those not yet fit for citizenship – slaves and colonial subjects.' Sovereignty thus becomes 'embodied in citizens sharing territory and culture, and sharing the right to punish strangers.
If we look for how sovereign power constructs its authority through its 'capacity for visiting violence on human bodies,' colonial forms of sovereignty were always more excessive than those that prevailed in Europe. However, the colony as a formation of terror revealed the structure of the European juridical order. That order rested on the logic of the juridical equality of all states (each possessed the right to wage war – to kill – and no state could make claims to rule outside its borders), but also on the equally fundamental tenet that this logic did not apply to those parts of the globe outside Europe available for colonization. If Europe laid claim to humanity, Gilroy notes, that humanity 'could exist only in the neatly bounded, territorial units where true and authentic culture could take root under the unsentimental eye of a ruthlessly eugenic government. If the nation existed within the higher logic of a natural hierarchy, that logic also ordered those within the nation itself. Extending Foucault's argument that racism was the ordering principle establishing who shall live and who shall die, Gilroy suggests that at the summit of imperial power, race thinking and race science combined with nationalism to invest the nation with characteristics associated with biocultural kinship in which new forms of duty and mutual obligation appeared to regulate relationships between members of the collective, while those who fell beyond the boundaries of the official community were despised, reviled, and subjected to entirely different political and juridical procedures, especially if they did not benefit from the protection of an equivalent political body.
Gilroy's reminder of the nation imagined as a biocultural kin group that must be fortified against culturally and racially different others is especially relevant to today's empire of camps.
Gender and the Camp
Etienne Balibar has remarked that in this time of a single supranational power, it is through the right to exclude that the weakened nation state 'demonstrates (at low cost) the force that it claims to hold and at the same time reassures those who suspect its destitution.' In the 'intensive universalism' of contemporary nation states, Balibar argues, 'anthropological differences' become the reason to exclude. If all citizens are entitled to equal rights, then those who are considered unequal by virtue of pathological, sexual, or cultural difference can be summarily excluded from citizenship on the grounds that they pose a threat to the nation. The racism of empire treats differences between cultures and traditions as insurmountable; racial hierarchy becomes in this way an effect of culture, an outcome of what are considered immutable cultural differences. In the 'war on terror', Muslim cultures and traditions become innate characteristics that permanently mark Muslims as belonging outside the polity. Gender is crucial to the confinement of Muslims to the pre-modern, as post-colonial scholarship has long shown. Considered irredeemably fanatical, irrational, and thus dangerous, Muslim men are also marked as deeply misogynist patriarchs who have not progressed into the age of gender equality, and who indeed cannot. For the West, Muslim women are the markers of their communities' place in modernity.
How does it come to be that visions of veiled women dance in the heads of so many that 'codes de vie' must be devised declaring that all women must show their faces in the small North American town of Hérouxville, Québec? In the unconscious structure of Orientalism, the veiled Oriental woman, Yegenoglu observes, signifies the Orient as seductive and dangerous, but the powerful allure and productive power of the fantasy of Orientalism has meant that the European man must dream a dream of possession of the veiled woman if he is to know himself as modern, all-knowing and rational. The longing to possess, to unveil, is often expressed as rescue, and in this way it is a fantasy shared by both men and women. Saving Brown women from Brown men, as Gayatri Spivak famously put it, has long been a major plank in the colonial ship since it serves to mark the colonizer as modern and civilized and provides at the same time an important reason to keep Brown men in line through practices of violence. In the post-9/11 era, this aspect of colonial governance has been revitalized. Today it is not only the people of a small white village in Canada who believe that Muslim women must be saved. Progressive people, among them many feminists, have come to believe in the urgency of saving Muslim women from their patriarchal communities. As a practice of governance, the idea of the imperilled Muslim woman is unparalleled in its capacity to regulate. Since Muslim women, like all other women, are imperilled in patriarchy, and since the rise of conservative Islam increases this risk (as does the rise of conservative Christianity and Hinduism), it is hard to resist calls to 'save the women.'
Empire is a gendered project not only in the sense that what happens to colonized men often differs from what happens to colonized women, but because the work that the ruling race does is also stratified along gender lines. Whereas it is principally the men of the West who engage in actual policing (with notable exceptions in camps such as Abu Ghraib where there were also some women guards), it falls to the women of the ruling race to police the colour line in a different way. They mark the West as a place of values, and the non-West as a place of culture, a line in the sand drawn by comparing their own apparently emancipated status with that of their non-Western sisters. The Western subject is 'an unavoidably masculine position,' and Western women, Yegenoglu notes, can access the universal only through asserting themselves in the same fantasy of possessing of the Oriental woman.
In this book, I devote considerable space to how some Western feminists participate in empire through the politics of rescue, unhesitatingly installing the idea that it is through gender that we can tell the difference between those who are modern and those who are not. As I argue in several chapters, Western feminists fail to see their own implication in the neoliberal politics of empire, understanding only that they are more enlightened than their worse-off sisters in the South. Gender operates as a kind of technology of empire enabling the West to make the case for its own modernity and for its civilizational projects around the globe. Where gender is relied upon in this way, Muslim women find themselves stranded between the patriarchs of their own community and the empire's bombs. That is, either we accept the diagnosis that our cultures and our men are barbaric and take the cure (the bombs on our heads and the camps), or we endure patriarchal violence. From laws against forced marriages in Norway to the banning of faith-based arbitration in Canada, I will offer several examples of how Muslim women are socially constructed on the horns of dilemma.
Merci à Karim Ramadan !
Saturday, May 01, 2010
Le führer des Wallons
Qui était Léon Degrelle? Et comment peut-on, à partir des pages qu'il a écrites, établir une théorie du fascisme? Jonathan Littell répond dans «le Sec et l'Humide». Dont voici, en exclusivité, les bonnes feuilles
C'est surtout avant guerre que Léon Degrelle se fit connaître, comme un jeune trublion vaguement fascisant, portant beau et cherchant, à la tête d'un mouvement populaire d'origine catholique, à bouleverser la classe politique belge. Sa popularité atteint son zénith en 1936, lorsqu'il parvint à envoyer vingt et un députés au Parlement de Bruxelles; mais, dès 1938, de plus en plus associé par l'opinion publique à l'hitlérisme montant, il marquait un net recul et avait perdu une bonne partie de son influence politique. Peu découragé, il milita durant la «drôle de guerre» pour des positions ultra-neutralistes perçues comme ouvertement pro-allemandes par une population extrêmement méfiante à l'égard des intentions du Reich. Le 10 mai 1940, jour du déclenchement de l'offensive allemande contre les Alliés occidentaux, Degrelle est interné avec de nombreux germanophiles et autres suspects par les autorités belges. Evacué lors de la débâcle, transféré à la Sûreté française à Dunkerque, réchappé de peu du massacre d'une vingtaine de prisonniers à Abbeville, battu et maltraité, trimbalé de prison en prison à travers la France, Degrelle sera enfin libéré après l'Armistice, au pied des Pyrénées. Le 21 août, de retour en Belgique, il rencontre le comte Capelle, secrétaire du roi Léopold III, qui lui explique les nouvelles orientations politiques du Palais: faire équipe avec les nationalistes flamands, avec les néo-socialistes du Parti ouvrier belge, avec les Allemands. «Et Hitler?», affirme avoir demandé Degrelle. «Allez-y, aurait rétorqué Capelle, nous le désirons.» Degrelle avait déjà rencontré Hitler en 1936 et était tout de suite tombé sous son charme; mais une nouvelle rencontre prévue pour octobre 1940 capote (pour cause d'invasion de la Grèce); et les services du Militärbefehlshaber in Belgien und Nordfrankreich, qui, selon les recommandations du Führer, favorisent «autant que possible» les nationalistes flamands, considérés comme «germaniques», opposent un mépris souverain à toutes ses offres de collaboration. Degrelle a beau réorganiser le rexisme sur un modèle ouvertement fasciste, avec chemises noires, marches aux flambeaux et embrigadement de la jeunesse, c'est l'«immobilisme politique», la traversée du désert; même son Heil Hitler! du 1er janvier 1941, qui causa la défection de nombreux rexistes à tendance belgiciste, n'y suffira pas: «gross angelegte Reklame» («une réclame de grand style»), déclarera le général Reeder, l'administrateur militaire de Belgique qui considérait Degrelle comme «ein Scharlatan». Or, dès l'invasion de l'Union soviétique par l'Allemagne, en juin 1941, l'ambitieux lieutenant de Degrelle, Fernand Rouleau, soutenu par des cercles royalistes francophones inquiets de la montée en puissance de la collaboration flamande, propose la création d'une légion «Wallonie» antibolchevique au sein de la Wehrmacht. Pris de vitesse, angoissé par la perspective d'une perte de prestige qui ne ferait qu'accélérer sa mise au placard définitive, Degrelle - qui s'en serait bien passé - n'a qu'une solution: s'engager. A son argument selon lequel son statut politique devrait lui valoir au moins un rang de lieutenant, les autorités militaires allemandes opposent une fin de non-recevoir: «Manque de connaissances militaires et techniques.» Il partira donc comme Schütze du 1er groupe de la 1re section de la 1re compagnie. Qu'à cela ne tienne: la légende, plus tard, n'en sera que rehaussée, et la presse rexiste de l'époque abonde en photos du «simple mitrailleur» Degrelle.
Non seulement Degrelle survivra par miracle à quatre ans de combats parfois effroyables - «Chance Degrelle, chance éternelle», chantonnait-on à l'époque -, mais sa rapide montée en grade et la mort de plusieurs officiers supérieurs lui donnent enfin, en 1944, le commandement effectif de la légion, maintenant versée à la Waffen-SS en tant que SS-Sturmbrigade «Wallonien». Les combats héroïques de son unité, notamment lors de la percée de l'encerclement soviétique de Tcherkassy, en février 1944, lui ont valu décorations, promotions, rencontres avec Hitler, puis, à l'automne, sa nomination de Volksführer der Wallonen (suprême autorité civile sur les Belges francophones dans le Reich). Son pari est gagné: par le biais de la collaboration militaire, s'imposer, auprès des Allemands, comme l'incontournable interlocuteur belge dans le cadre de l'Ordre nouveau d'après guerre. Hélas pour lui, l'après-guerre ne sera pas nazie. Abandonnant ses hommes du côté de Lübeck, début mai 1945, Degrelle fuit en Norvège; de là, un avion long-courrier le transportera en Espagne, où, malgré une condamnation à mort par contumace en Belgique, il finira paisiblement ses jours, entouré d'une cour de fidèles, impénitent, plus emmuré dans ses mensonges et ses postures stériles que jamais. [...]
Le Moi-carapace du fasciste
Ce n'est pas en fait de la politique de Degrelle qu'il sera question ici, mais de son langage. «(...) disons avec des mots vrais ce que fut leur épopée, comment ils ont combattu, comment leurs corps ont souffert, comment leurs cœurs se sont donnés», écrit-il. Bien; regardons ce que nous disent au juste ces mots vrais. Dans le texte.
«Le fascisme est un mode de production de réalité (...) pas une question de forme de gouvernement ou de forme d'économie, ou d'un système quel qu'il soit», écrit Klaus Theweleit dans son grand livre de 1977,«Männerphantasien». Theweleit, le premier peut-être, a voulu prendre les fascistes au mot. Travaillant sur un corpus d'environ deux cents romans, mémoires et journaux rédigés par des vétérans des Freikorps allemands de 1918-1923, il a tenté d'analyser la structure mentale de la personnalité fasciste. Impossible de résumer ici ce livre brillant, polymorphe, insaisissable; tout au plus pourrons-nous tenter d'en esquisser les conclusions générales. Le «fasciste» ou «mâle-soldat» (soldatischer Mann), pour Theweleit, ne peut pas être compris en termes de psychanalyse freudienne, il doit être approché par le biais de la psychanalyse de l'enfance (Melanie Klein, Margaret Mahler) et de la psychose (Michael Balint et d'autres), ainsi que de concepts hérités de Deleuze et Guattari. Le modèle freudien du Ça, du Moi et du Surmoi, et donc de l'Œdipe, ne peut pas lui être appliqué, car le fasciste, en fait, n'a jamais achevé sa séparation d'avec la mère, et ne s'est jamais constitué un Moi au sens freudien du terme. Le fasciste est le «pas-encore-complétement-né». Or ce n'est pas un psychopathe; il a effectué une séparation partielle, il est socialisé, il parle, il écrit, il agit dans le monde, de manière hélas souvent efficace, il prend même parfois le pouvoir. Pour y parvenir, il s'est construit ou fait construire - par le truchement de la discipline, du dressage, d'exercices physiques - un Moi extériorisé qui prend la forme d'une «carapace», d'une «armure musculaire». Celle-ci maintient à l'intérieur, là où le fasciste n'a pas accès, toutes ses pulsions, ses fonctions désirantes absolument informes car incapables d'objectivation. Mais ce Moi-carapace n'est jamais tout à fait hermétique, il est même fragile; il ne tient réellement que grâce à des soutiens extérieurs: l'école, l'armée, voire la prison. En période de crise, il se morcelle, et le fasciste risque alors d'être débordé par ses productions désirantes incontrôlables, la «dissolution des limites personnelles». Pour survivre, il extériorise ce qui le menace de l'intérieur, et tous les dangers prennent alors pour lui deux formes, intimement liées entre elles: celle du féminin et celle du liquide, de «tout ce qui coule». Comme le fasciste ne peut pas entièrement anéantir la femme (il en a besoin pour se reproduire), il la scinde en deux figures: l'Infirmière (ou la Châtelaine) blanche, vierge bien sûr, qui généralement meurt ou en tout cas se pétrifie, à moins que le fasciste ne l'épouse, auquel cas elle disparaît purement et simplement du texte; et l'Infirmière (ou la Prostituée) rouge, que le fasciste, afin de maintenir son Moi, tue, de préférence en l'écrasant à coups de crosse et la transformant en bouillie sanglante. Quant à la menace du liquide, le fasciste peut soit la projeter sur le bolchevisme, auquel cas elle revient sous la forme de la Marée rouge, contre laquelle il érige la digue de ses armes et de son corps (dur), soit la dompter, en faisant par exemple couler la foule dans le canal rigide de la parade national-socialiste. [...]
Après Moi, le déluge
Car, si la campagne de Russie est perdue, reste «la Campagne de Russie». De toute évidence, les souffrances, les horreurs des combats, le choc de la défaite ont sérieusement ébranlé cette armure qui est la seule chose qui maintienne l'intégrité d'un Degrelle. Il est urgent de la rafistoler; et pour ce faire il n'y a plus qu'un moyen. La mention finale «Hôpital militaire Mola, San Sebastián (Espagne), août-décembre 1945» trahit la hâte; dès que son bras droit est sorti du plâtre, il se met au travail. Bien plus qu'un testament politique, une entreprise d'autojustification, ou un brûlot destiné à remettre sa carrière d'après guerre sur les rails, «la Campagne de Russie» est avant tout une vaste opération de sauvetage du Moi degrellien, naufragé ballotté par les flots. Et cette opération, contrairement à la guerre elle-même car menée à une échelle bien plus modeste, sera un succès. Plus efficace que les puisettes du Caucase, l'écriture permettra à Degrelle d'écluser les flots qui submergent son psychisme, et, à l'aide des stratégies rhétoriques que j'ai tenté d'esquisser, de les canaliser, de les évacuer, et de tirer la chasse. Le livre servira ainsi d'éponge; Degrelle s'en sortira sec, son Moi-carapace, un uniforme amidonné de colonel SS, plus rigide que jamais, prêt pour la suite des événements. Après Moi, le déluge.
© Gallimard, 2008
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Frédéric Gersdorff :« D’autres questions nous ont semblé plus pertinentes »
Afromedia.be : Pourquoi avoir mis en doute le témoignage d’Aimé Bolua ?Frédéric Gersdorff : Je ne l’ai pas du tout mis en doute. J’ai mis ses propos au conditionnel parce que je n’avais aucune confirmation venant de sources officielles de ce qu’il disait. C’était juste ses propos. Aucun enquêteur, aucun porte-parole de la police ne m’a confirmé à ce moment-là ses dires. Ce n’était pas une mise en doute mais une précaution de ma part. Par ailleurs, ce n’est pas moi qui aie réalisé l’interview de ce monsieur mais des collègues de Télé-Matonge. Je n’ai donc pas pu avoir de contact direct avec lui et il s’agissait de prendre certaines assurances par rapport à son témoignage, en l’absence de confirmations ou d’infirmations tant de la justice que de la police.
A.be : Vous n’avez pas non plus interviewé Ramsès Ramazani …
F.G : Non, car sur place, ce monsieur ne s’est pas présenté à moi ou, moi, je n’ai pas pu le rencontrer.
A.be : Vous n’avez pas non plus jugé crédible le fait que des collègues de Télé-Matonge vous fournissent l’interview d’Aimé Bolua en tant qu’élément d’information marquant ?
F.G : J’aurais fait l’interview moi-même que je l’aurais également présenté au conditionnel puisque je n’avais, à ce moment-là, aucune source de police me confirmant ces éléments-là. N’importe qui aurait pu me dire cela, pour moi, c’était une précaution journalistique importante : quand une personne vous dit quelque chose, on le dit, on le met en avant, mais au conditionnel tant qu’il n’y a pas de sources officielles qui confirment ses propos.
A.be : Les jours qui ont suivi, plusieurs médias, dont RTL-TVI, ont interviewé Ramsès Ramazani et confirmé son intervention. Pas la RTBF. N’était-il pas opportun de revenir sur cet aspect peu banal du fait divers ?
F.G : Oui, cela pouvait être une possibilité de reportage et, comme on a pu le voir, cela s’est fait dans les jours qui ont suivi. C’est une idée qui se défend et c’est vrai que nous ne l’avons pas fait. Mais cette affaire a soulevé de nombreuses questions qui nous ont semblé plus pertinentes à développer.
A.be : Certes, mais plusieurs médias ont aussi traité des aspects prioritaires de l’affaire (le braquage, les auteurs venus d’Estonie, les questions de violence) tout en médiatisant l’acte héroïque des deux belgo-congolais…
F.G : Oui, mais, heu … Ce n’est pas un choix qui a été fait contre … On aurait pu le faire, on a décidé de ne pas le faire et puis voilà ! Ce n’était pas une volonté de ne pas le faire, mais plutôt une volonté de faire autre chose.
A.be : Ce choix de la RTBF a été très mal perçu par plusieurs habitants de Matonge. La télé de Service public serait-elle plus intéressée par relayer les aspects négatifs frappant ce quartier africain plutôt qu’un aspect positif tel que deux de ses habitants qui - au péril de leurs vies - ont permis l’arrestation d’un malfrat ?
F.G : Franchement, je pense que c’est un procès d’intention qui n’a aucune raison d’être. Il n’y a aucun choix qui a été posé avec cette réflexion visant à accuser précisément le quartier de Matonge. D’ailleurs, si vous regardez la conclusion de mon reportage : alors qu’on a aucune certitude sur l’identité des braqueurs, je dis que la seule chose dont on est sûr, c’est que ce n’était pas des habitants de Matonge.
A.be : Ramsès Ramazani a été invité ce dimanche sur le plateau de Controverse (RTL-TVI) pour livrer son témoignage dans le cadre d’un débat sur les violences urbaines. Qu’en pensez-vous ?
F.G : (soupir). Je n’en pense rien et n’ai aucun commentaire à faire là-dessus.
A.be : Etant donné les questions autour de la recrudescence de ce type de violences, le débat dominical de la RTBF devrait aussi y être consacré, non ?
F.G : Je vous avoue que je ne m’occupe absolument pas de ça. Pour cela, il faut vous adresser à mes collègues de Mise au point.
Propos recueillis par Olivier Mukuna
Ramsès Ramazani : « La RTBF est devenue une référence de salons »
Afromedia.be : Avec le recul, comment expliquez-vous votre décision de poursuivre, sans arme, des gangsters armés ?
Ramsès Ramazani : Je ne me l’explique toujours pas. J’ai démarré au quart de tour. Pourtant, je suis marié et père de 4 enfants mais je n’ai pas pensé un instant à cet aspect primordial. D’ailleurs, après les faits, mon épouse et certains de mes proches m’ont engueulé pour avoir pris un tel risque. En réalité dès que j’ai entendu les coups de feu, il n’y a pas eu de réflexion : je me suis mis à leur poursuite. Animé par une irrépressible volonté de justice. Cette agression venait de se passer dans ma collectivité, sous mes yeux, j’étais directement concerné ! Je tiens d’ailleurs à souligner l’élément suivant : La personne qui est décédée et celle qui se trouve aux soins intensifs appartiennent à la communauté juive. Ce sont des juifs géorgiens. Pourquoi dire cela ? Pour montrer qu’au-delà des différences de couleurs de peau ou de confessions religieuses, ici à Matonge, nous sommes et travaillons en symbiose. Ces personnes qui ont été attaquées et sont en deuil ne sont pas des étrangers : ils sont miens. Pour moi, pour Aimé et beaucoup d’autres, il s’agit de la famille élargie.
A.be : Les malfrats avaient-ils une mallette en leur possession ?
R.R : Non, je suis formel. Les faits ont eu lieu à une quarantaine de mètres de ma personne. J’entends des coups de feu, me retourne vers l’endroit des détonations et je vois deux personnes de type européen surgir de la bijouterie et traverser la rue en courant. Je réalise qu’il s’agit de malfaiteurs et les poursuit immédiatement. Aimé Bolua fait de même et m’emboîte le pas. Lorsque les voleurs s’engouffrent dans la galerie de la Porte de Namur, je ne les vois pas se débarrasser de quoi que ce soit. Par contre, je m’aperçois qu’ils sont armés, je vois leurs mains, leurs pistolets, mais aucune mallette. Tout cela n’a pas duré une minute. Ils tournent dans la rotonde de la galerie pour ressortir au niveau du Quick et du métro. Ils redescendent ensuite à droite pour se retrouver sur le Champs de mars. A ce niveau-là, un des malfaiteurs prend un vélo. J’ignore s’il lui appartenait ou s’il l’a volé. Il nous a tenu en respect avec son arme et a pris la fuite. Nous avons continué à poursuivre celui qui était à pieds. Plus d’une fois, il nous a aussi menacés avec son pistolet. J’ignore encore pourquoi je n’ai ressenti aucune peur. Mon avantage, c’est que j’ai croisé son regard plusieurs fois lorsqu’il se retournait : cet homme était véritablement pris de panique ! J’avais l’ascendant. Dans sa course, je vois qu’il manipule une sorte de sac en tissu. Nous avons encore longé la statue équestre de Léopold II, puis le fuyard s’est réfugié dans un parc derrière des bâtiments. Lorsque j’y arrive, je vois qu’il cherche à se cacher dans les fourrés. Il n’avait plus son arme ni son sac de tissu. J’ai foncé sur lui et l’ai maîtrisé.
A.be : Vous étiez seul ?
R.R : A ce moment-là, oui. Je suis un peu plus sportif et courrais en tête. Aimé est arrivé quelques minutes plus tard et m’a aidé à le maintenir. Nous l’avons présenté aux gardes en faction du Palais Royal. Ceux-ci avaient vu la scène et sorti leurs armes, ne comprenant pas ce qui se passait. J’ai expliqué que l’homme que nous détenions venait de commettre un hold-up et que nous le poursuivions depuis la porte de Namur. Les gardes ont emmené le malfrat. Je suis retourné vers la chaussée de Wavre. A mon arrivée, je trouve les policiers sur les lieux et une victime étendue sur le trottoir. A ce moment-là, j’ignore qu’il y a décès et des blessés. J’informe directement un policier que nous avons appréhendé un des gangsters et que nous l’avons remis aux gardes du Palais Royal. Un autre officier me prend dans son véhicule et, toutes sirènes hurlantes, nous retournons au Palais Royal. Après une discussion entre les gardes et le policier et sur mes indications, l’officier appelle du renfort pour effectuer une battue. Ils ont retrouvé l’arme et le sac en tissu du gangster. Jusqu’à présent, j’en ignore le contenu.
A.be : A votre retour sur les lieux, vous avez été auditionné par la police. Combien de temps ?
R.R : Plus d’une heure. Avec une quinzaine d’autres personnes, j’ai été entendu dans le restaurant Cosi Cosi qui était devenu une sorte de commissariat. Il y avait des policiers assis un peu partout en train d’interroger des gens. Pour ma part, j’ai été auditionné avec Aimé et un jeune camerounais qui nous avait suivis durant la poursuite, armé d’un bâton.
A.be : Le soir du drame, avez-vous regardé les reportages diffusés par les JT de RTL-TVI et de la RTBF ?
R.R : Oui. J’estime que RTL est resté assez en phase avec ce que j’avais vu. Par contre, le compte-rendu de la RTBF contenait beaucoup d’inexactitudes.
A.be : Avez-vous noté que le journaliste de la RTBF a mis en doute le témoignage d’Aimé Bolua ?
R.R : Oui et j’ignore pour quelle raison il l’a fait. A mon second retour sur les lieux, je n’ai vu aucun journaliste de la RTBF sur place. Leur arrivée tardive a certainement dû jouer dans cette sorte de sous-traitance aléatoire qu’ils ont diffusée au JT. En tout cas, je vous confirme que, ce jour-là, j’ai été interviewé par plusieurs journalistes de presse écrite et celui de RTL m’a questionné plus d’une fois. Mais je n’ai jamais vu ou été contacté par celui de la RTBF.
A.be : Comment l’expliquez-vous ?
R.R : Je n’en sais rien. En dehors de l’audition où j’étais inaccessible, je suis resté longtemps sur place, avec une amie commerçante et avec les fils du bijoutier qui m’ont vivement remercié. Si les policiers m’ont interrogé, si plusieurs témoins m’ont vu poursuivre les malfrats, je pense que ce journaliste de la RTBF aurait pu s’interroger et me retrouver pour recouper le témoignage d’Aimé et recueillir le mien…
A.be : Que pensez-vous de ce contraste de traitement entre télé de service public et télé privée ?
R.R : Vous savez, j’habite à Matonge depuis dix ans. A chaque évènement grave, les journalistes débarquent en alerte. Régulièrement, ce sont ceux de RTL-TVI qui arrivent les premiers. La RTBF couvre évidemment les faits, mais ce sont des gens qu’on ne voit pas très rapidement sur le terrain ...
A.be : Vous avez le sentiment que le journaliste de la RTBF s’est strictement contenté de la parole officielle ?
R.R : C’est manifestement une personne qui pratique le journalisme en allant voir les officiels plutôt que les personnes de terrain. A ses yeux, ces dernières sont sans doute peu crédibles. Or, le porte-parole de la police a reconnu qu’au moment où nous avions réalisé l’essentiel de notre action la police n’était pas encore là. Je pense donc que ce journaliste aurait pu faire son travail et chercher plus loin. D’autant que je suis connu dans le quartier, comme l’agence de voyage pour laquelle je travaille et je fais aussi partie du Comité des commerçants de Matonge. Depuis lundi, beaucoup de journalistes m’ont contacté. Je suis également invité à débattre ce dimanche dans l’émission Controverse (RTL-TVI). L’ensemble de ces journalistes se sont simplement posé des questions et, eux, sont parvenus à me trouver …
A.be : Quatre jours après le drame, la RTBF n’a jamais mentionné votre action héroïque ni rectifier sa mise en doute de départ. Qu’en pensez-vous ?
R.R : Je ne sais pas comment ils travaillent. S’ils disposent de quelques « entrées », comme certains journalistes le prétendent parfois, je peux vous dire que mon numéro de téléphone figure sur le P-V d’audition de police ... D’autre part, pendant ces 4 jours, je n’ai reçu aucun appel de la RTBF. Ni de la radio, ni de la télé. Dans le même temps, j’ai été contacté par VTM, VRT, RTL-TVI, Radio Contact, La Capitale, Métro et d’autres journaux. Or, si je ne m’abuse, cela fait aussi partie du métier des journalistes que de s’informer sur ce que font les autres médias concurrents ...
A.be : Ce désintérêt assumé de la RTBF vous semble entrer en contradiction avec une éthique de service public ?
R.R : Absolument. Dans le domaine de l’éthique, la télévision de service public se doit d’être encore plus présente que la chaîne privée. Notamment parce que la RTBF est souvent perçue comme une référence. Mais aujourd’hui, il s’agit davantage d’une « référence de salons » qui hésite à descendre sur le terrain. Le cas d’espèce sur lequel vous m’interrogez l’indique de manière claire.
Propos recueillis par Olivier Mukuna
Ramsès Ramazani : Je ne me l’explique toujours pas. J’ai démarré au quart de tour. Pourtant, je suis marié et père de 4 enfants mais je n’ai pas pensé un instant à cet aspect primordial. D’ailleurs, après les faits, mon épouse et certains de mes proches m’ont engueulé pour avoir pris un tel risque. En réalité dès que j’ai entendu les coups de feu, il n’y a pas eu de réflexion : je me suis mis à leur poursuite. Animé par une irrépressible volonté de justice. Cette agression venait de se passer dans ma collectivité, sous mes yeux, j’étais directement concerné ! Je tiens d’ailleurs à souligner l’élément suivant : La personne qui est décédée et celle qui se trouve aux soins intensifs appartiennent à la communauté juive. Ce sont des juifs géorgiens. Pourquoi dire cela ? Pour montrer qu’au-delà des différences de couleurs de peau ou de confessions religieuses, ici à Matonge, nous sommes et travaillons en symbiose. Ces personnes qui ont été attaquées et sont en deuil ne sont pas des étrangers : ils sont miens. Pour moi, pour Aimé et beaucoup d’autres, il s’agit de la famille élargie.
A.be : Les malfrats avaient-ils une mallette en leur possession ?
R.R : Non, je suis formel. Les faits ont eu lieu à une quarantaine de mètres de ma personne. J’entends des coups de feu, me retourne vers l’endroit des détonations et je vois deux personnes de type européen surgir de la bijouterie et traverser la rue en courant. Je réalise qu’il s’agit de malfaiteurs et les poursuit immédiatement. Aimé Bolua fait de même et m’emboîte le pas. Lorsque les voleurs s’engouffrent dans la galerie de la Porte de Namur, je ne les vois pas se débarrasser de quoi que ce soit. Par contre, je m’aperçois qu’ils sont armés, je vois leurs mains, leurs pistolets, mais aucune mallette. Tout cela n’a pas duré une minute. Ils tournent dans la rotonde de la galerie pour ressortir au niveau du Quick et du métro. Ils redescendent ensuite à droite pour se retrouver sur le Champs de mars. A ce niveau-là, un des malfaiteurs prend un vélo. J’ignore s’il lui appartenait ou s’il l’a volé. Il nous a tenu en respect avec son arme et a pris la fuite. Nous avons continué à poursuivre celui qui était à pieds. Plus d’une fois, il nous a aussi menacés avec son pistolet. J’ignore encore pourquoi je n’ai ressenti aucune peur. Mon avantage, c’est que j’ai croisé son regard plusieurs fois lorsqu’il se retournait : cet homme était véritablement pris de panique ! J’avais l’ascendant. Dans sa course, je vois qu’il manipule une sorte de sac en tissu. Nous avons encore longé la statue équestre de Léopold II, puis le fuyard s’est réfugié dans un parc derrière des bâtiments. Lorsque j’y arrive, je vois qu’il cherche à se cacher dans les fourrés. Il n’avait plus son arme ni son sac de tissu. J’ai foncé sur lui et l’ai maîtrisé.
A.be : Vous étiez seul ?
R.R : A ce moment-là, oui. Je suis un peu plus sportif et courrais en tête. Aimé est arrivé quelques minutes plus tard et m’a aidé à le maintenir. Nous l’avons présenté aux gardes en faction du Palais Royal. Ceux-ci avaient vu la scène et sorti leurs armes, ne comprenant pas ce qui se passait. J’ai expliqué que l’homme que nous détenions venait de commettre un hold-up et que nous le poursuivions depuis la porte de Namur. Les gardes ont emmené le malfrat. Je suis retourné vers la chaussée de Wavre. A mon arrivée, je trouve les policiers sur les lieux et une victime étendue sur le trottoir. A ce moment-là, j’ignore qu’il y a décès et des blessés. J’informe directement un policier que nous avons appréhendé un des gangsters et que nous l’avons remis aux gardes du Palais Royal. Un autre officier me prend dans son véhicule et, toutes sirènes hurlantes, nous retournons au Palais Royal. Après une discussion entre les gardes et le policier et sur mes indications, l’officier appelle du renfort pour effectuer une battue. Ils ont retrouvé l’arme et le sac en tissu du gangster. Jusqu’à présent, j’en ignore le contenu.
A.be : A votre retour sur les lieux, vous avez été auditionné par la police. Combien de temps ?
R.R : Plus d’une heure. Avec une quinzaine d’autres personnes, j’ai été entendu dans le restaurant Cosi Cosi qui était devenu une sorte de commissariat. Il y avait des policiers assis un peu partout en train d’interroger des gens. Pour ma part, j’ai été auditionné avec Aimé et un jeune camerounais qui nous avait suivis durant la poursuite, armé d’un bâton.
A.be : Le soir du drame, avez-vous regardé les reportages diffusés par les JT de RTL-TVI et de la RTBF ?
R.R : Oui. J’estime que RTL est resté assez en phase avec ce que j’avais vu. Par contre, le compte-rendu de la RTBF contenait beaucoup d’inexactitudes.
A.be : Avez-vous noté que le journaliste de la RTBF a mis en doute le témoignage d’Aimé Bolua ?
R.R : Oui et j’ignore pour quelle raison il l’a fait. A mon second retour sur les lieux, je n’ai vu aucun journaliste de la RTBF sur place. Leur arrivée tardive a certainement dû jouer dans cette sorte de sous-traitance aléatoire qu’ils ont diffusée au JT. En tout cas, je vous confirme que, ce jour-là, j’ai été interviewé par plusieurs journalistes de presse écrite et celui de RTL m’a questionné plus d’une fois. Mais je n’ai jamais vu ou été contacté par celui de la RTBF.
A.be : Comment l’expliquez-vous ?
R.R : Je n’en sais rien. En dehors de l’audition où j’étais inaccessible, je suis resté longtemps sur place, avec une amie commerçante et avec les fils du bijoutier qui m’ont vivement remercié. Si les policiers m’ont interrogé, si plusieurs témoins m’ont vu poursuivre les malfrats, je pense que ce journaliste de la RTBF aurait pu s’interroger et me retrouver pour recouper le témoignage d’Aimé et recueillir le mien…
A.be : Que pensez-vous de ce contraste de traitement entre télé de service public et télé privée ?
R.R : Vous savez, j’habite à Matonge depuis dix ans. A chaque évènement grave, les journalistes débarquent en alerte. Régulièrement, ce sont ceux de RTL-TVI qui arrivent les premiers. La RTBF couvre évidemment les faits, mais ce sont des gens qu’on ne voit pas très rapidement sur le terrain ...
A.be : Vous avez le sentiment que le journaliste de la RTBF s’est strictement contenté de la parole officielle ?
R.R : C’est manifestement une personne qui pratique le journalisme en allant voir les officiels plutôt que les personnes de terrain. A ses yeux, ces dernières sont sans doute peu crédibles. Or, le porte-parole de la police a reconnu qu’au moment où nous avions réalisé l’essentiel de notre action la police n’était pas encore là. Je pense donc que ce journaliste aurait pu faire son travail et chercher plus loin. D’autant que je suis connu dans le quartier, comme l’agence de voyage pour laquelle je travaille et je fais aussi partie du Comité des commerçants de Matonge. Depuis lundi, beaucoup de journalistes m’ont contacté. Je suis également invité à débattre ce dimanche dans l’émission Controverse (RTL-TVI). L’ensemble de ces journalistes se sont simplement posé des questions et, eux, sont parvenus à me trouver …
A.be : Quatre jours après le drame, la RTBF n’a jamais mentionné votre action héroïque ni rectifier sa mise en doute de départ. Qu’en pensez-vous ?
R.R : Je ne sais pas comment ils travaillent. S’ils disposent de quelques « entrées », comme certains journalistes le prétendent parfois, je peux vous dire que mon numéro de téléphone figure sur le P-V d’audition de police ... D’autre part, pendant ces 4 jours, je n’ai reçu aucun appel de la RTBF. Ni de la radio, ni de la télé. Dans le même temps, j’ai été contacté par VTM, VRT, RTL-TVI, Radio Contact, La Capitale, Métro et d’autres journaux. Or, si je ne m’abuse, cela fait aussi partie du métier des journalistes que de s’informer sur ce que font les autres médias concurrents ...
A.be : Ce désintérêt assumé de la RTBF vous semble entrer en contradiction avec une éthique de service public ?
R.R : Absolument. Dans le domaine de l’éthique, la télévision de service public se doit d’être encore plus présente que la chaîne privée. Notamment parce que la RTBF est souvent perçue comme une référence. Mais aujourd’hui, il s’agit davantage d’une « référence de salons » qui hésite à descendre sur le terrain. Le cas d’espèce sur lequel vous m’interrogez l’indique de manière claire.
Propos recueillis par Olivier Mukuna
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