Violence as Response, Not Choice: Decolonising the Reading of Fanon
The critique that Fanon 'embraced' or 'celebrated' violence fundamentally mischaracterises his position and reveals the limitations of Western academic perspectives on decolonisation.
Violence was not introduced by the colonised, it was the foundational tool of imperial control. Colonial systems were maintained through systematic brutality: forced labour, cultural destruction, economic exploitation, and the constant threat of retribution. To suggest that Fanon 'chose' violence ignores that violence had already been chosen for the colonised by their oppressors.
Fanon's analysis recognised a very important psychological reality: when a people have been conditioned to accept their own dehumanisation, the act of resistance-including violent resistance-becomes a necessary assertion of agency and dignity. This isn't a celebration of violence per se, but an acknowledgement that meaningful liberation from a violent system cannot always be achieved through the very peaceful channels that system has deliberately constrained or eliminated.
The discomfort many Western scholars express with Fanon's position on violence often stems from their own distance from colonial brutality. It's considerably easier to advocate for non-violent resistance when one hasn't experienced the daily humiliation and structural violence of colonial rule. This perspective, whilst well-intentioned, can inadvertently perpetuate the colonial logic that places the burden of moral behaviour on the oppressed rather than the oppressor.
The question isn't whether violence is desirable, but whether liberation movements can realistically achieve decolonisation without confronting the violence that maintains their subjugation.
Violence as Response, Not Choice: Decolonising the Reading of Fanon
The critique that Fanon 'embraced' or 'celebrated' violence fundamentally mischaracterises his position and reveals the limitations of Western academic perspectives on decolonisation.
Violence was not introduced by the colonised, it was the foundational tool of imperial control. Colonial systems were maintained through systematic brutality: forced labour, cultural destruction, economic exploitation, and the constant threat of retribution. To suggest that Fanon 'chose' violence ignores that violence had already been chosen for the colonised by their oppressors.
Fanon's analysis recognised a very important psychological reality: when a people have been conditioned to accept their own dehumanisation, the act of resistance-including violent resistance-becomes a necessary assertion of agency and dignity. This isn't a celebration of violence per se, but an acknowledgement that meaningful liberation from a violent system cannot always be achieved through the very peaceful channels that system has deliberately constrained or eliminated.
The discomfort many Western scholars express with Fanon's position on violence often stems from their own distance from colonial brutality. It's considerably easier to advocate for non-violent resistance when one hasn't experienced the daily humiliation and structural violence of colonial rule. This perspective, whilst well-intentioned, can inadvertently perpetuate the colonial logic that places the burden of moral behaviour on the oppressed rather than the oppressor.
The question isn't whether violence is desirable, but whether liberation movements can realistically achieve decolonisation without confronting the violence that maintains their subjugation.