Frantz Fanon, Me and the Questions

He wasn’t Algerian, yet he fought for Algeria until his last breath. From 1953 to 1961, he felt a deep belonging to its land and liberation cause. His dying wish was to be buried in Algerian soil. But why did a Black man from Martinique, once a soldier in the French army against the Nazis, end up fighting for Algeria? What questions would he ask us today about our nation and Africa?

Fanon believed in the right to defend and decolonize with the same force as the oppressor. In The Wretched of the Earth, he wrote: “Decolonisation is always a violent phenomenon.” France banned the book upon release, and for years, his writings were seen as a direct threat to colonial rule.

In Algeria, waiting defines daily life. We waited for independence. We wait for government solutions. We wait for elections. We waited for civil war to end. We wait to travel, to get a home, a job, a better life. And we are still waiting…

In 1953, Fanon became head of psychiatry at Blida-Joinville Hospital (now Hôpital Frantz Fanon). There, he faced a moral dilemma: treating both Algerian torture victims and the French soldiers who tortured them. In 1956, he resigned, was expelled from Algeria, and moved to Tunis, where he joined the FLN and wrote for Al Moudjahid until his death.

Arab? African? Both? Who are we as Algerians?

The Algerian Civil War (1991–2002) began after a coup canceled an Islamist electoral victory. By 1994, violence had reached levels unseen since the War of Independence. Over 250,000 lives were lost. Across Africa, civil wars followed a similar pattern. But who caused them? Who supported them? And when foreign powers intervene "to preserve peace," do they solve the problem or deepen it?
Algeria once had cinemas across the country, but the Black Decade (civil war) of the '90s shut them down. The image below shows a closed cinema in Oran. Many turned to TV, where national channels pushed propaganda and dictatorship.

Over the last 30 years, countless Africans have died in wars. With social media, we are exposed to endless images of death. But does this overexposure numb us? Have we lost our ability to truly acknowledge the value of a human life?

Neocolonialism is the unspoken reality of many nations. Foreigners may not see it, but those born into it feel it every day. The term, coined by Jean-Paul Sartre in 1956 and widely used by the Ghanaian politician Kwame Nkrumah, describes the hidden control exerted through puppet governments, economic exploitation, and manufactured conflicts. Nkrumah was later overthrown, allegedly by the CIA. Today, neocolonialism is even more complex, shaping nations through war, regime changes, and economic strangleholds. The stamp in the corner of the image was produced by  the Soviet Union.

French remains Algeria’s second language, dominating schools and administration proof of France’s lingering influence. Though scholars have proposed shifting to English for global integration, the colonial legacy persists.

“The town belonging to the colonized people... is a world without spaciousness; men live there on top of each other... starved of bread, of meat, of shoes, of coal, of light.” -Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth. Though written about colonial-era slums, this still resonates today. Growing up in an Algerian ghetto, I often wonder: Can we judge those who turn to crime? Were they ever given an equal chance?

Harragas are North African migrants who burn their papers to avoid identification, they risk their lives crossing the Mediterranean. Many drown, yet the numbers continue to rise. But why do we seek refuge in the very countries that colonized us? Is it psychological? Why do Algerians and Africans need visas to travel the world?

Fanon, a trained psychiatrist, studied the psychological toll of colonialism. Since the 1960s, what mental disorders have we developed under continued injustice? On the right: a mentally ill friend of my father, Chlef, Algeria, 2019.

From installing puppet governments to plundering resources, African economies remain subordinate to Western powers. As global tensions rise, the divide between East and West deepens.

Time feels frozen under repression. It stretches endlessly, marked only by oppression. After the civil war, Algeria was ruled for 20 years by Abdelaziz Bouteflika, seen at left in a scanned poster from his first campaign. His 1999 campaign promised peace and prosperity, but his reign is now considered one of the most corrupt in Algeria’s history.

The 2019-2021 Hirak protests erupted after Bouteflika sought a fifth term. Millions took to the streets in unprecedented demonstrations. Yet after COVID-19 lockdowns, the movement faded. Have we forgotten so soon?

To many Algerians, the future looks bleak. When we look at our children, do we see hope or uncertainty?

The Casbah of Algiers, once a revolutionary stronghold and home to artists, is now crumbling. Despite its UNESCO status, over 80,000 people live there in buildings that could collapse at any moment. Why are we abandoning our most valuable architectural heritage? Is its preservation the responsibility of the government or the people?

“A Colonized people are not alone... Violence is in the atmosphere, here and there bursting out, here and there sweeping away the colonial regime.” — Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth. His words still ring true. Liberation movements continue to rise, proving that silencing one struggle only fuels another.

Frantz Fanon died on December 6, 1961, at 36. His final wish was to be buried in Algeria, but at the time, it was still under French rule. He was buried in Tunisia instead. In a twist of fate, a 1965 border realignment placed his grave inside Algeria, where he now rests among the martyrs. The archival image shows his body being carried across the border. The background sketch is my own, depicting the Algeria-Tunisia border. The photo was taken in Tunis, Tunisia 2024.