‘The white man gave us the Bible and took away our land’: Exploring the relationship between coloniser and colonised

A primary scope for postcolonial theory would be to provide a backdrop for the analysis of that literature which portrays a colonised land and its aftermath; a literature which is, first and foremost, rooted in socio-politics. Postcolonial theory is most commonly applied to African, Australian, Indian and some American literatures; however this is too narrow a sketch. Not all literature which is set in such countries should be considered ‘postcolonial’, and similarly, literature from other parts of the world could still be analysed through postcolonial theory.

As postcolonial theory deals with all that colonisation entails, such as history, geography, traditions and religions, social frameworks and politics, a general discussion of more than one theme would certainly be a daunting task. For this reason, only the theme of the coloniser-colonised relationship will be dealt with, as this also encompasses a variety of other important issues, ranging from racism to bilingualism. The common African saying which is incorporated in the title, that ‘The white man gave us the Bible and took away our land’, is only one ring in many chains which bind the coloniser to the colonised. Among the many theorists who speak about the coloniser-colonised relationship, one may find Octave Mannoni and Albert Memmi, the latter writing as a response to the previous.

Octave Mannoni first published Prospero and Caliban in 1950, after the Madagascar revolt which was a massacre with nearly 100,000 deaths. As Maurice Bloch outlines in the introduction to the 1993 edition, Mannoni’s attitude towards the revolt is quite ambiguous. One must keep in mind that he is writing both as an African-born supporting the plight for freedom of the colonised, and also as a man educated in France and enjoying a managerial career because of his French education. It can be safely said that Mannoni is a Frenchman, and not an African, as he frequently uses the first person plural to include himself with the French.

Albert Memmi, on the other hand, published The Colonizer and the Colonized in 1957, mainly as a response to Mannoni. Although he also received a French education at the lyceum in Tunis, he still grew up in his mother-country, and only moved to France when he was twenty-six, marrying there and returning to Tunisia five years later. Unlike Mannoni, Memmi’s loyalty lies solely with his fellow colonised countrymen, and he can be seen to take the side of the colonised against that of the coloniser, even though he never speaks in the first person.

In order to explain the behaviour of the colonised, Mannoni speaks about the way ‘Dependence and inferiority form an alternative; the one excludes the other’.¹ By referring to the Malagasies, Mannoni shows how they do not experience any feelings of inferiority as a community, solely because they are dependent on the coloniser. Always with reference to the Malagasies, he says that dependent behaviour starts when the European does the colonised a favour, and after that the colonised will keep coming for more favours, without ever showing gratitude for the favours he has received. The colonised does not want to exploit the coloniser, ‘his psychology was not that far developed’, but he simply wants the relationship as a means of reassurance. This is why he eventually starts asking for favours which he does not need; the fact that he asks and is given provides him with reassurance. Mannoni compares the dependent colonised with the European child who has to be taught how to be grateful. However, despite the effort, it is when the child becomes independent that he starts being grateful. The same applies to the colonised: it is only when they cease to be dependent on the coloniser that they can show gratitude.

In several instances Mannoni seems to suggest that the mind of the colonised is underdeveloped, so much so that he is compared to the European child. It is as if the colonised has brought this situation upon himself, and that he was susceptible to be colonised just for being what he is, thereby implying that racism led to colonialism, and not the other way round: ‘…force would not have conquered and kept the island had not the Malagasy people, long before our arrival, been ready for our coming’.²

Memmi seems to be angry at this portrayal of the colonised, and he says that ‘There is only a particle of truth in the fashionable notions of ‘dependency complex’, ‘colonisability’, etc’.³ He shows how the coloniser constantly debases the colonised in all areas pertaining to him, from his disagreeable climate to his supposed laziness. The passing tourist, having praised the hospitality of the colonised, soon changes tact once he settles in the colony. What had been hospitality is now irresponsibility and extravagance; the colonised can no longer manage his economy well, and so it has to be managed for him. This is only one example from the many given by Memmi, in which he shows how debasement of the colonised is actually profitable for the colonialist, and so his negative judgement can hardly be trusted. Memmi also shows how dependency does not come about simply because the coloniser performs a favour for the colonised, but, on the contrary, how it is the result of his constant debasement by the coloniser. Eventually, the colonised start to doubt themselves and ask if the coloniser might possibly be right, until ‘the mythical and degrading portrait ends up by being accepted and lived with to a certain extent by the colonised.’⁴

There is also a notable difference between Mannoni and Memmi in their treatment of the colonisers. As it has already been outlined, Mannoni is writing as a Frenchman, and so although he believes in the freedom of the colonised, he cannot criticise the colonisers outright, because in so doing he would also be criticising his very position as head of the information office. Thus, the picture Mannoni presents of the coloniser is partial and dulled by his affiliation to the colonisers. Mannoni’s colonisers initially have a noble aim in mind, although the ends and means may not turn out as expected. He feels that he can somewhat excuse the pompous behaviour of the coloniser by saying that Madagascar was not taken by force, but the natives actually wanted the Europeans to become their colonisers: ‘their coming was unconsciously expected – even desired – by the future subject peoples’.⁵ He then presents the colonisers as self-possessed and courageous, defending themselves against the natives even though greatly outnumbered. This is a far cry from the way Chinua Achebe presents the coloniser in Things Fall Apart, where military armed forces descend upon the unsuspecting natives and massacre a whole village.

Memmi does not hesitate to crumble the view of the coloniser presented by Mannoni, and does this in the very first paragraphs of his book. First he presents the stereotypical portrait of the noble coloniser, and then undermines him in the next paragraph, saying that the coloniser’s motive, even from the very beginning, is only personal profit. Attempts at education and religious conversions are secondary, and only used as a means to justify the selfishness of the coloniser. A colony is a place where ‘one earns more and spends less’,⁶ all at the expense of the colonised. Furthermore, the coloniser, instead of adapting himself to the new country he inhabits, tries to turn it into his native country, of which he no longer forms part. Thus, ‘he has succeeded not merely in creating a place for himself, but also in taking away that of the inhabitant’.⁷ However, Memmi is not partial in his judgements and acknowledges that there are colonisers who refuse the unjust situation, so much so that he dedicates a whole chapter to ‘The coloniser who refuses’. He presents two options for the coloniser who refuses: either he stays to fight for justice, or simply packs up and leaves. Although the first option might seem the noblest one, Memmi does not actually believe in it. He shows how, in order to truly refuse, all one can do is leave. Staying there and voicing his complaints is not enough if he is still receiving more privileges than the colonised, and since Memmi has already shown that the colonial does not exist, it is inevitable that the coloniser who refuses will still continue to be favoured over the colonised. Memmi portrays the coloniser who refuses and tries to become part of the colonised, i.e. become a turncoat. This is a very difficult, if not impossible, task because ‘our man would have to be a moral hero’⁸ in order to accomplish it. Memmi shows how, despite the fact that this coloniser might believe wholeheartedly in the aptitude of the colonised, the fact remains that ‘he admits to a fundamental difference between the colonised and himself’,⁹ and knows that he can never consider himself one of them.

Memmi also portrays ‘The coloniser who accepts’ and becomes a colonialist: ‘to be a colonialist is the natural vocation of the coloniser’, implying that most colonisers often take this route, rather than the previous one of refusal. According to Memmi, the colonialist is the more incompetent of the two and only stays because he knows that he will not find a similar position back in his mother-country. Therefore the colony ends up being run by the most incompetent, who constantly blame the colonised serving under them for the lack of efficiency.

Memmi’s treatment of the coloniser-colonised relationship is somehow more convincing than that presented by Mannoni, especially as the Maltese, having been colonised by the British, can draw numerous comparisons with the picture presented by Memmi. Mannoni’s position is uncannily similar to the European leftist position discussed by Memmi. The leftist, following his fundamental principles, believes in the rightful freedom of the colonised, but then is embarrassed and confused when the means to attain that freedom are employed. It may therefore be concluded that for Mannoni and the leftist, there is no available room in the struggle, because although they may agree with the basic principle of freedom, they will never agree with the means to attain it.

Although the portrait of Postcolonial theory presented has only been limited to the relationship between the coloniser and the colonised in African countries, and with reference to only two theorists, the discussion still opened a vast sea of other possibilities and further problems which remain unanswered. Applying postcolonial theory to relevant literature might possibly result in the consolidation of both the literature as well as the theory. Perhaps the relationship between postcolonial theory and literature should be vaguely similar to the one of the coloniser-colonised. Just as the coloniser and the colonised are created through those chains which bind them together and yet keep them separate, postcolonial theory and literature should exist in a similar manner with the scope of creating a more substantial vision of reality.

Endnotes

¹ Octave Mannoni, Prospero and Caliban (USA: University of Michigan Press, 1993), p. 40.

² Ibid., p.86.

³ Albert Memmi, The Coloniser and the Colonised (London: Earthscan Publications, [n.d.]), p.154.

⁴ Ibid., p.153.

⁵ Mannoni, op.cit., p. 86.

⁶ Memmi, op. cit., p. 70.

⁷ Ibid., p. 75.

⁸ Ibid., p. 89.

⁹ Ibid., p. 91.

References

Albert Memmi, The Coloniser and the Colonised (London: Earthscan Publications, [n.d.])

Octave Mannoni, Prospero and Caliban (USA: University of Michigan Press, 1993)

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