Chapter 1
The Postcolonial Intellectual
Rumors of the death of the intellectual, as Susan Sontag asserts, are greatly exaggerated (110), though the announcement of the intellectualâs demise is itself a ârecurrent genreâ (Collini 40).1 The somewhat âmoldy,â âelitist,â or âobsoleteâ air of the traditional, universal intellectual (and perhaps especially the professional, institutional, academic intellectual) remains, and there is a perennial discomfort with the term that carries the odor of the candle or the aura of the screen. Much has been written on the role and representation of intellectuals and clearly intellectuals like writing about themselves, though a species of anxiety or self-conscious hand-wringing often informs these reflections. There is a commonly expressed impatience with intellectual workâs apparent or perceived divorce from the material realities of poverty and injustice, if not an outright death wish, as in some of the work of intellectuals as different as Jean-Paul Sartre and AmĂlcar Cabral. One might be forgiven for thinking that times are nearly always dark for intellectuals.2 For many people, and even some intellectuals, like Edward W. Said, appalled by intellectual hubris,3 the intellectual may be a useless passion.
A PMLA Roundtable on Intellectuals was convened in 1997 at a time when the humanities and academia in general were variously described as besieged or beleaguered (Perloff 1129; Miller 1137). Judith Butler, six years later in 2003, would also voice concerns about the role of the traditional intellectual, concerns that in her view are exacerbated for âpolitically minded intellectualsâ in the academy due to anxiety about the effectiveness of their public communications amid âan upsurge of anti-intellectualismâ (45)4 when âanti-intellectualism has become practically institutionalizedâ (Feal 1).5 The new information economy and infotainment media culture have challenged older concepts of individual intellectual expertise and of any lingering notions of a âcommon cultureâ (Miller 1138). At the same time, intellectual, knowledge capital is more marketable than ever (Graff, âToday, Tomorrowâ 1133), and media exposure, particularly of African-American intellectuals (such as perhaps Americaâs most prominent intellectual, Cornel West), has reinvigorated the role of the public intellectual (LaCapra1134), despite Pierre Bourdieuâs cautions about media intellectualsâ âcultural âfast foodââ (29) and Saidâs warnings about media intellectualsâ compromising commodification of their own expertise (Ali, Conversations 110). In this climate, as Dominick LaCapra maintains, the postcolonial intellectual (Walter Mignolo prefers âthe postoccidental intellectualâ [1141]) is well-positioned to mediate the contested terrain between âspecialized researchâ and public address (1134), though Marjorie Perloff suggests that innovative intellectual renewal may be best effected by âpoet-intellectualsâ (1130).
One of the often overlooked preoccupations of the postcolonial critical project, itself one of the major academic growth industries over the past two decades, is the role of the intellectual. Simultaneously, there have been persistent questions about who speaks and for whom, and from what location and to what purpose, with a recurring anxiety that such speech, however well-intentioned, performs an authoritarian act of silencing the other and particularly the subaltern. This book aims to reengage with the figure of the postcolonial intellectual as manifested in the words and practice of a number of postcolonial intellectuals and in their relationship to the work of NgĆ©gÄ© wa Thiongâo, and it also aims to reexamine some of the critical, historical, and cultural sources and contexts of his thought. It calls for a reconsideration of his location as a major postcolonial theorist when he is sometimes regarded as merely a novelist or dramatist who just happens to do theory. His eight critical and theoretical works, from Homecoming: Essays on African and Caribbean Literature, Culture and Politics (1972) to Globalectics: Theory and the Politics of Knowing (2012),6 are, moreover, sometimes perceived as being mere diagrams, keys, or tool kits (or worse, guidebooks with answers, the desire for which Chinua Achebe deplores amusingly in his famous early statement on the role of the creative intellectual in Africa, âThe Novelist as Teacherâ)7 for deciphering NgĆ©gÄ©âs own artistic creations. This myopic interpretation is a particular danger for a theorist who, unlike Said, Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, or Homi Bhabha, is also an accomplished artist. Moreover, NgĆ©gÄ©âs subaltern background, his upbringing in an extended family of landless, illiterate peasants, and his lived experience of colonial violence, anticolonial resistance, and neocolonial imprisonment, make him an unusual postcolonial intellectual. NgĆ©gÄ©âs role in canon reform and educational decolonization helped to establish the discipline of postcolonial studies, even if it didnât finally âabolishâ English departments. âOn the Abolition of the English Departmentâ by NgĆ©gÄ©, Henry Owuor-Anyumba, and Taban Lo Liyong, a memo that launched a revolution, was issued at the University of Nairobi in October 1968, and included in NgĆ©gÄ©âs first volume of essays Homecoming (145â50). As he recalls in his most recent collection Globalectics, â[t]he debate and the consequences went beyond Nairobi to other universities in Africa and beyond, generating disputes, some of the earliest shots in what later became postcolonial theoriesâ (9). NgĆ©gÄ© is routinely named as a contender for the Nobel Prize in Literature, and odds takers estimate his chances highly.8
This book also calls for a reconsideration of the role of the intellectual in global leadership in speaking truth to power in the struggle for truth, justice, and reconciliation, at a time when a Kenyan-American intellectual who carries the aura of a rock star and whose father was born 40 miles from Kisumu in Kogelo, Western Kenya, is president of the United States of America for a second term of office, after two election campaigns in which issues of race, gender, religion, nationality, and culture entered public political discourse. Moreover, Barack Hussein Obamaâs grandfather, Hussein Onyango Obama, may well have been a survivor of torture in Britainâs colonial camps for Mau Mau suspects.9 NgĆ©gÄ©âs acclaimed novel MĆ©rogi wa Kagogo (Wizard of the Crow), the longest of his career, appeared in 2006; it uses the technique of postmodern African folk tales (a uniquely African version of magic realism) as well as NgĆ©gÄ©âs distinctive âMau Mau aestheticsâ (following the Mau Mau rebel fighters in transforming biblical stories, for example, into tools of liberation)10 to dream a truly independent future into being. All of NgĆ©gÄ©âs novels present history âfrom belowâ and demonstrate that history is a contested terrain, open to challenge and transformation, and his novels from the 1960s have served witness to the brutality of colonial repression, especially during the Mau Mau period (Elkins 374â5). Wizard of the Crow appears at a time when revisionist imperial historians, particularly in Britain, are promoting portraits of benevolent empire, though other historians, like Caroline Elkins, David Anderson, and Ian Cobain are detailing the true horrors of colonialism in Kenya, and former Mau Mau detainees have been granted a voice in British courts, an action that appears set to unleash a myriad of claims from former colonies (Cobain and Hatcher 15). â[W]hat is astonishing about Kenyaâs dirty war [the vicious suppression of anticolonial forces in the 1950s] is not that it remained secret at the time,â remarks Anderson, âbut that it was so well known and so thoroughly documentedâ in Britain and Kenya (309). Wizard of the Crow tackles dictatorship in a fictional African state resembling Kenya, and its subject is particularly poignant in a period when the world lies in a state of heightened security after the bombings in Nairobi, New York, and elsewhere, followed by the âwar on terror,â and the âglobal village,â to misapply Marshall McLuhanâs evocative phrase,11 seems smaller and more fragile than before. Dictators and exporters of civil war, like Liberiaâs Charles Taylor, are being brought to justice, and the first and second generation of African strong men, like Kenyaâs Daniel arap Moi, are being humbled at the ballot box and in some cases, like that of Kenyaâs new president Uhuru Kenyatta, potentially at the International Criminal Court in The Hague. While the forces of globalization, which NgĆ©gÄ© faces directly in Penpoints, Gunpoints, and Dreams (1998), are as pervasive and destabilizing as ever, a more hopeful future, as he has recently argued, may be dawning with âthe decolonization of modernityâ (Something xi). These recent essays expand NgĆ©gÄ©âs range of intellectual engagement, which now extends from Walter Benjamin, Michel Foucault, and Plato to popular culture. There has been renewed critical interest in NgĆ©gÄ©âs works with at least six monographs, as well as a number of essay collections and comparative studies, in recent years.
The figure of the public intellectual has been most powerfully asserted in the cultural and political stance of the postcolonial intellectual who has become a kind of global conscience as well as an engaged social critic.12 Critics like Said, Spivak, and Bhabha have led the Western academy to reconsider its own ideological location, but NgĆ©gÄ© has worked in this area for five decades, and he has also directly participated in grassroots cultural renewal as playwright and novelist, and engaged in political action. NgĆ©gÄ©âs contribution to a recent forum on âThe Role of Intellectuals in the Twenty-First Century,â in conversation with Julia Kristeva, one of the leading French intellectuals today,13 indicates NgĆ©gÄ©âs importance in advancing the dialogue of the Black Atlantic and shows his oppositional stance to the role of universal intellectuals. As in her call in 1977 for a new type of âdissidentâ intellectual, in touch with the politics of gender, power, and the unconscious,14 Kristeva, in the âdark timesâ of 2006, sought a âreconstructive roleâ for the intellectual (18; 13â21), and like NgĆ©gÄ©, advanced the intellectualâs continuing engagement with âfreedom, liberation, [and] social justiceâ (âFor Peaceâ 39). In 2009âs The Incredible Need to Believe, Kristeva would call once more for a new, reformed humanism, a radical actualization of thought to confront the postmodern âempire of calculation and show businessâ (29) and by extension its promotion of anonymous, passive spectatorship.
Kristevaâs and NgĆ©gÄ©âs positions are indebted to the radical intellectual politics of Sartre, who had a sustained if sometimes adversarial influence on the work of postcolonial theorist Frantz Fanon. In âA Plea for Intellectualsâ (1965) and âA Friend of the Peopleâ (1970), the latter produced two years after May 1968, Sartre launched a harsh critique of the role of the âclassical,â universal intellectual that he had earlier exemplified as shown in What Is Literature (1948), despite his wartime adoption of the stance of the engaged Resistance writer who voices subaltern positions as in Anti-Semite and Jew (1946). Sartreâs autobiography, The Words (1964), is partly a rigorous debunking of the illusions and delusions to which intellectuals appear surprisingly vulnerable. Sartreâs was an education in disillusionment. As a gifted child who was regarded as a prodigy and who saw himself as one of the âelectâ (252), Sartre entertained a view of the writerâs role as a heroic, romantic, priestly, quasi-mystical vocation. He writes that â[f]or a long time, I took my pen for a sword; I now know weâre powerlessâ (253â4). In his later works, however, Sartre advances the radical model of the âcombat[ant]â intellectual, one of whose roles is to accept that he is âthe monstrous product of a monstrous societyâ (âPleaâ 249, 247), living amid instability and contradiction. He must engage in perpetual self-criticism and even âsuppress himself as an intellectualâ (âFriendâ 293).
â[I]ntellectuals have chosen unhappiness by wanting to be intellectuals,â remarked Jean Baudrillard in 1985, noting that this unhappiness results from vocational critical detachment as well as internal division (72), qualities of Sartreâs âclassicalâ intellectual. In the aftermath of the heady late 1960s when French intellectuals, like Sartre, Foucault, and Baudrillard himself stood at the epicenter of volcanic social and political battles, intellectuals often appear uneasily poised between grandiosity and despair. Their self-perception is a species of grandiose delusion about being in the vanguard of meaningful social change and a simultaneous, despairing recognition of impotence, intellectualsâ having ânever changed anything muchâ (Baudrillard 76). While admiring intellectualsâ utopian imaginings, Baudrillard insists, âI wouldnât be against envisaging a world without intellectualsâ (79). The year following Baudrillardâs statements, one of the most prominent of Americaâs radical, oppositional intellectuals, Noam Chomsky, speaking in Managua, Nicaragua, would echo a similar fatigue and also a certain contempt for âclassicalâ intellectualsâ apparent vocational inclination to delusional arrogance in a characteristic diatribe:
What we often find is that the intellectuals, the educated classes, are the most indoctrinated, most ignorant, most stupid part of the population, and there are very good reasons for that. Basically two reasons. First of all, as the literate part of the population, they are subjected to the mass of propaganda. There is a second, more important and more subtle reason. Namely, they are the ideological managers. Therefore, they must internalize the propaganda and believe it. And part of the propaganda they have developed is that they are the natural leaders of the masses. (quoted in Ross, âDefenders of the Faithâ 101)
In the context of this despair at intellectualsâ self-delusion and anxiety of impotence, there was also a certain naĂŻve envy of postcolonial intellectualsâ importance, and an apparent disregard for the very real personal danger they faced. Baudrillard, for example, juxtaposes the vacillation of post-1968 French intellectuals with the position of â[i]ntellectuals of the Third World [who] have the privilege of holding a clear critical position and of having the possibility of struggle, which is also totally clear. Confusion, in their case, is not possibleâ (73).
Paris provided an important nexus for Pan-African colonial intellectuals, such as Fanon, AimĂ© CĂ©saire, and LĂ©opold SĂ©dar Senghor, in the period leading to independence, as would London, explored in Chapter 3. The intellectualsâ location informs both their role and their function. The postwar elite in Franceâwhat Claude Lanzmann, Resistance fighter, Shoah director, and Le Temps Modernes editor, called the mandarins, a term Simone de Beauvoir, Franceâs foremost feminist intellectual, used as the title of her roman ĂĄ clef Les Mandarins (1954; The Mandarins) (Lanzmann 235)âwas preoccupied with the aftermath of the outbreak of peace in Europe and its consequences for the role of intellectuals, while rumors circulated about Soviet labor camps and the ongoing âenslavement of colonial peoplesâ particularly in Algeria (Beauvoir, Mandarins 430). As Beauvoir makes clear, French left-wing intellectuals had to decide whether to continue the struggle of the Resistance elsewhere in Europe, in countries such as Portugal, with its own African empire, and even more generally how to accommodate their personal and collective, historical and political pasts.15 More specifically, they wondered if an art of individual solace, reflection, and entertainmentâBeauvoir, Sartre, Albert Camus, and Arthur Koestler were all novelists as well as philosophersâwas desirable or even morally permissible at what might be a moment of great crisis and opportunity. This is a question that would also trouble NgĆ©gÄ© in the late 1960s. Should intellectuals be activists, and if so should they act up within political parties and political periodicals or maintain an independent detachment? Such questions had vital significance, and their discussion was of widespread interest because in France, as Nobel laureate Doris Lessing notes: âintellectuals generally, were glamorous in a way they never have beenâ in Britain (âIntroductionâ 7); Richard Wolin maintains that within France, they âhave enjoyed the status of a lay aristocracyâ (19). Baudrillard would concur in the mid-1980s, reflecting on the heady days of 1968 when intellectuals were in the thick of a struggle that appeared to have profound social significance: â[p]eople like technicians, who use their brain but do so through technical means, are not, for us, intellectuals. Even scholars and scientists are not, in France, intellectuals. We have more restricted and more Ă©litist positio...