Fanon on the Irreciprocity and Fixed Difference of Colonized Space

Both philosophers of race and sociologists have explained how the racialization of phenotypic differences and negative socio-political narratives of race such as equating blackness with criminality detrimentally affects economically disadvantaged African Americans, especially young, black males. However the stigmatization of places such as ghettos and particular urban areas also reinforces an us/them divide and negatively impacts the life chances of its residents. Along these lines, Ato Sekyi-Otu, in his work, Fanon’s Dialectic of Experience, analyzes how the colonized suffer violence in fixed, segregated space, or as Frantz Fanon might put it, “Manichean” regions of (non)being and mere subsistence. As Sekyi-Otu argues, spatiality takes center stage in Fanon’s descriptions of colonized existence, where separate quarters and fixed social (im)mobility constantly confront the colonized person.[1] This is not to suggest that temporality has no place in Fanon’s theorizing. Fanon, for example, speaks of the colonized existing in “dead time” and makes multiple references to the fact that the black person’s past and future, because already negatively scripted by dominant white narratives, constantly threatens his or her present.[2] It is, however, to claim that Fanon’s thematizing metaphors of spatiality and the primacy, analytically speaking, that he gives them, is part of a larger critique of classical Marxism (and certain currents in existentialism.)[3] Rather than explicate inequality in terms of  “social relations of production” and time or unfree, alienated labor, which involves a qualitative loss and distortion of our experience of time, Fanon unmasks the “logic of social hierarchy which ‘parcels out the world’ by virtue of a politics of space founded on race.”[4]  In other words, for Fanon, that spatiality, like temporality functions as a primordial or basic component of human experience is granted and uncontroversial. However, the controversy instigating Fanon’s protests arises when spatiality is transformed “into an extraordinary state of coercion.”[5] Thus, to accurately portray the character of the colonial experience, Fanon thematizes or, as Sekyi-Otu puts it, dramatizes “the ursurpation and coercive structuring of space as the defining reality of social domination, indeed of social being.”[6] With Fanon’s insights concerning the connection between race and the “politics of space” in mind, let us examine select passages from his book, The Wretched of the Earth.

Fanon’s analyses focus on the “compartmentalized world” of the colonized and the ways in which the colonized experience psychological harm and collective injury as a result of being forced to live as a dishonored group in a sequestered and “fixed” physical and social region. For example, Fanon describes the colonized world as “a world divided in two. The dividing line, the border, is represented by the barracks and the police stations.” [7] The divide is of course drawn along racial lines where the “white folks’ sector” (colonists) and the colonized constitute a Manichean space whose darker regions are “kept under close scrutiny, and contained by rifle butts” and other explicitly violent measures.[8]  Fanon goes on to highlight the stark differences—politically, economically, and sociologically—between the colonized and the European sectors.

The colonist’s sector is a sector built to last, all stone and steel. It’s a sector of lights and paved roads […] the streets are clean and smooth, without a pothole, without a stone. The colonist’s sector is sated, […] its belly is permanently full of good things.[9]

In contrast, the colonized live in dilapidated structures signaling transience, stagnation, subjugation, and dishonor. “It’s a world with no space, people are piled one on top of the other.”[10] From the architectural structures to the lack of human goods to the constant police surveillance and threat of violence, the colonized are engulfed in a geopolitically carved nether-region that constantly communicates their alleged inferiority and status as social refuse. The “native” sector signifies “a disreputable place inhabited by disreputable people.”[11] Living in such confined, stigmatized, and coercively instituted spaces adversely impacts a group’s self-perception. Given the economic, political, and legal differential between the colonized and the colonists, it is unsurprising that the “colonized’s sector is a sector that crouches and cowers, a sector on its knees, a sector that is prostrate.”[12]

            In addition to his emphasis on the politics of space to describe the structure of domination in the colonial world, Fanon also examines the colonists’ racialized discourses, highlighting their role in vilifying and dehumanizing the colonized.  Similar to the contemporary racist narratives prevalent in the U. S. that equate black males with criminals and deviants, Fanon observes that the Manichean world of the colonists backed by its “agents of law and order” is not satisfied with enacting physical, spatial constraints to restrict and keep the colonized under its surveilling gaze. To these already violent and coercive measures, its public discourses transmute “the colonized into a kind of quintessence of evil.”[13] According to this narrative, it is not that the colonized possess weak values or lack certain values, rather, as Fanon explains:

The “native” is declared impervious to ethics, representing not only the absence of values but also the negation of values. He is, dare we say it, the enemy of values. In other words, the absolute evil. A corrosive element, destroying everything which involves aesthetics or morals, an agent of malevolent powers, an unconscious and incurable element of blind forces.[14]

Here the “native” is judged not only a social reject but also a dangerous “corrosive element,” which thus must be coercively sequestered so as not to harm or contaminate the alleged moral, aesthetic, and intellectual superiority of the European colonizers.

Although I do not develop this connection here—but I am presently working on a chapter for a book project where I discuss this link extensively—Loic Wacquant’s work on America’s northern ghettos (1915–68), the subsequent post-1968 hyperghetto, and the hyperghetto-carceral continuum similarly serve to forcibly contain, restrain, and stigmatize dishonored populations. As time warrants, I hope to post more on these and other Wacquant-Fanon areas of overlap.


[1] Michel Foucault also thematizes spatiality in his analyses of the prison and disciplinary power. However, as Lizbet Simmons observes Foucault’s account fails to attend to the role of race (and gender) in disciplinary institutions such as the prison and the school. See, Lizbet Simmons, “The Docile Body in School Space,” in Schools Under Surveillance. Cultures of Control in Public Education, eds. Torin Monahan and Rodolfo D. Torres. (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2010), pp. 55–70.

[2] See, for example, Frantz Fanon. Black Skin, White Masks, revised edition. Trans. Richard Philcox (New York: Grove Press, 2008).

[3] Both Fanon and key figures of the Negritude movement such as Aimé Césaire offer stringent critiques of Marxism for its failure to take the “race” issue seriously, subordinating it to and subsuming it within the class issue. See, for example, Aimé Césaire. Discourse on Colonialism. Trans. Joan Pinkham (New York: Monthly Review Press, 2000).

[4]  Ato Sekyi-Otu. Fanon’s Dialectic of Experience. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996), p. 77 (italics in original). As Sekyi-Otu explains, in Marx’s depiction of “totalitarian egalitarianism, time as labor-time, as the common measure of work and objects, becomes a collusive agent in the expulsion of quality from the human world. Here labor-time and the laborer himself are commodified and thus quantifiable. In this sense, we have a fall from free-flowing heterogeneous time to fixed homogenous time; time is frozen and morphs into space (ibid., 74).

[5] Ibid., 77 (italics in original).

[6] Ibid., 76.

[7] Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, p. 3.

[8] Ibid., p. 4.

[9] Ibid.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Ibid. Fanon, of course, goes on to describe the anger and resentment that the colonized experience and their desire to see the colonial world dismantled and destroyed.

[13] Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, p. 6.

[14] Ibid.

Part III: Fanon and Foucault on Humanism and Rejecting the “Blackmail” of the Enlightenment

HumanismBy connecting what I have written in my two previous posts [part I, part II] regarding Foucault’s critique of humanism with his promotion of local rather than global projects for socio-political change, we can highlight additional consonant as well as dissonant places with respect to Foucault’s complex response to humanism vis-à-vis Fanon’s view. As Foucault himself states, he is for local transformations “which concern our ways of being and thinking, relations to authority, relations between the sexes, the way we perceive insanity or illness” and so forth.[1] Given Foucault’s predilection in his writings to side with the marginalized, we want, as I suggested earlier, to add to his general statements about local transformations examples such prisoners’ or workers’ rights. However, is this a legitimate Foucauldian move, or does it require Foucault to make certain metaphysical commitments that he finds unsavory?

Clearly, Foucault believes in and prefers “these partial transformations” noted in the previous paragraph; however, he is suspicious of global “programs for a new man,” which have been used by various groups to exploit, manipulate, and even attempt to eradicate those portrayed as foreign, other, or enemy. In light of these statements, we may conclude that it is humanism as an ideology, as a grand over-arching metanarrative that Foucault disavows passionately. His comments do not suggest a complete rejection of the concerns for the marginalized and oppressed with which humanism is commonly associated. Nor does his critical philosophical attitude downplay the importance of freedom. His project, in fact, requires free beings with rational capacities. “I shall characterize the philosophical ethos appropriate to the critical ontology of ourselves as a historico-practical test of the limits we may go beyond, and thus as work carried out by ourselves upon ourselves as free beings.”[2] Yet, Foucault, in contrast to Fanon, is reticent to accept the idea of human rights as necessarily linked to some kind of universal, transcultural  human nature.  For Fanon, who presupposes a shared nature common to all humans irrespective of “race,” ethnicity, gender, and so forth, it follows that all humans possess certain rights which should never be violated. For example, because human begins are free agents in a way different from all other animals, they ought not be treated as things. To do so is to violate one of their fundamental rights qua human beings.  Foucault, as I have argued, assumes a minimalist metaphysical position in that his account takes for granted that humans possess rational and volitional capacities. However, as I read Foucault, even if he were to make explicit his minimal metaphysical commitments, he would not want to claim that certain fundamental rights follow naturally or necessarily from these rational and volitional structures. Rather, I imagine that he would claim that whatever rights appear in our archaeological and genealogical analyses of an historical episteme are specific to the particular socio-political institutions and cultural practices of that episteme. If this is correct, then it sounds a significant philosophical dissonance between these two thinkers; interestingly, this dissonance. Rather than ending on a dissonant note (as the two thinkers do have a great deal in common), one might point out that both Foucault and Fanon are critical of “Man,” that is, “Man” as sovereign subject and originator of all meaning.  Given this critical stance, a harmonization of the two thinkers’ position might translate as follows: the particular socio-historical “Man” in needed of de-throning just may turn out to be equivalent to the white, male, European imperialist imposed qua norm.  If so, then that particular subject construction is indeed worth putting to rest.

Returning to Fanon, his vision throughout his works was underwritten by a call to human solidarity, a challenge to both blacks and whites and to all human beings to “move away from the inhuman voices of their respective ancestors so that a genuine communication can be born.”[3] Uninterested in debates as to which “race” was superior and which inferior, Fanon asks, “[w]hy not simply try to touch the other, feel the other, discover each other? Was my freedom not given me to build the world of you, man?”[4] Like Foucault, Fanon refused to accept contingent, historically-formed narratives as universal and necessary truths.  Nor was Fanon content to succumb to the “blackmail” of the Enlightenment. Note, for example, the ambivalence in his largely negative description of Europe’s mixed contributions to human history:

The Third World must start over a new history of man which takes account of not only the occasional prodigious theses maintained by Europe but also its crimes, the most heinous of which have been committed at the very heart of man, the pathological dismembering of his functions and the erosion of his unity, and in the context of community, the fracture, the stratification and the bloody tensions fed by class, and finally, on the immense scale of humanity, the racial hatred, slavery, exploitation and, above all, the bloodless genocide whereby one and a half billion men have been written off.[5]

Rather, Fanon sought to transform and re-form a truly universal humanism appreciative of all cultures, embracing the “reciprocal relativism” of each for the purpose of mutual enrichment and genuine fraternité[6]—humanism as a symphony composed of many cultural voices, each of which has a distinctive part contributing to the beauty of the whole (ongoing) composition. Fanon’s historically-sensitive humanism neither turns a deaf ear to the cries of lives lost to the colonial project, nor chases frantically after “European achievements,” “increased productivity,” or a nostalgic return to nature.[7] Fanon’s quest began and concluded with a call to “reexamine the question of man,” “to invent a man in full, something which Europe has been incapable of achieving.”[8]


[1] Foucault, “What is Enlightenment?”, 316.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks, 206.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, 238.  Another passage highlighting this same begrudging acknowledgment of positive aspects of Europe is the following:  “[a]ll the elements for a solution to the major problems of humanity existed at one time or another in European thought. But the Europeans did not act on the mission that was designated them” (ibid., 237). Fanon, of course, continued to draw upon (not uncritically) the insights of Sartre, Hegel, Merleau-Ponty, and numerous other European thinkers.  See also, Robert Young, Postcolonialism, 274–83, esp. 276.  Differentiating Fanon from other Anglophone and Francophone Marxists, Young writes: “He [Fanon] always remained intellectually centered in Paris, and never resisted European thought as such, as much as he resisted European domination of the colonial world. A product of the western-educated elite, Fanon used the resources of western thought against itself” (276).

[6] Fanon, Toward the African Revolution, 44.  In the final chapter of The Wretched of the Earth, Fanon expresses similar sentiments: “we do not want to catch up with anyone. But what we want is to walk in the company of man, every man, night and day, for all times. It is not a question of stringing the caravan out where groups are spaced so far apart they cannot see the one in front, and men who no longer recognize each other, meet less and less and talk to each other less and less. […] if we want humanity to take one step forward, if we want to take it to another level than the one where Europe has placed it, then we must innovate, we must be pioneers” (238, 239).

[7] Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, 237, 238.

[8] Ibid., 237, 236. As Young emphasizes, we must avoid flattening Fanon’s complex, multilayered view of Europe, in particular the European intellectual tradition. Referencing Fanon’s closing remarks in The Wretched of the Earth issuing a call to leave Europe behind, Young reminds us that “Fanon’s own theoretical formulations remain European in orientation, above all towards Sartre,” who “was one of the very few European philosophers and intellectuals who made the issue of colonialism central to his work” (Postcolonialism, 281).

Part I: Fanon and Foucault on Humanism and Rejecting the “Blackmail” of the Enlightenment

HumanismFanon’s affirmation of a common nature uniting all humans motivates (in part) his desire to articulate a new, more inclusive, “race”-conscious humanism, something much different than the Eurocentric humanism(s) promoted by the Enlightenment yet not completely severed from the latter either. Fanon’s experiences as a black other in white, colonial, “Manichean” world, as Ahluwalia points out, “created the conditions that necessitated the new humanism,” which “was not a radical break with Enlightenment humanism, because of the way in which he drew on Marxism and existentialism”; even so, Fanon became increasingly aware of the need to expand, deconstruct, and revise the previous categories “because the issue of race problematized Marxist universalism.”[1] As many scholars have noted, the term “humanism” has many meanings and variants; yet, a common thread in most descriptions of humanism, including those preceding the Enlightenment, is an appeal to some universal, shared human nature, structure, or set of capacities distinguishing humans from other animals and thus granting them a unique dignity and worth. Disagreements ensue, as one can imagine, over which capacities to include, how to define those capacities, and how to define and specify “human nature.” In addition, historically speaking, various humanisms or humanistic strains have been taken up by religious and socio-political movements—from American Christianity in the Antebellum period to the European colonizing project to Stalinism—touting equality and liberty for all while simultaneously exploiting and even exterminating those scripted as inferior, subhuman, or a threat to “progress.”  Given its unsavory historical track record, one can understand the postmodern suspicion of humanistic grand narratives.

Nonetheless, might it be possible and worthwhile to recover certain humanistic themes both ancient and modern, improvising and reharmonizing them in a more historically-attuned multi-key composition whose final movement continues to be written? Once again, it is helpful to bring Fanon and Foucault into conversation. In the closing section of Black Skin, White Masks, Fanon underscores the need for the colonized subject to be future-oriented and to actively reject the white mythos while creatively carving out a new present. For Fanon, given his Algerian context, this included promoting physical violence and outright war if need be in order to pave the way for a new humanism in which no man or woman would be subjected to an enslaved or colonized existence.[2] Yet, his advocacy for violence was never glorification of violence;[3] rather, it was understood as analogous to the violence that must be performed in surgery in order to remove or at least halt the spreading of disease so that healing may begin.[4] In other words, because of the entrenched, systemic, oppressive character of colonialism in which the world of the colonized is transformed into a normalized lawless space, Fanon believed the decolonization phase could only be accomplished through violence, that is, through an armed struggle for liberation.[5] Commenting on the instrumental role of violence in Fanon’s thought, Ahluwalia writes, “[c]olonialism forces violence to become a cleansing agent which has the cathartic effect of creating a new identity both at the individual and collective levels.”[6] Even if one ultimately remains committed to non-violent forms of revolution, one must at least make every effort to grasp, or better, to feel in some way the bloody history of Algeria where men, women, and children were massacred en masse repeatedly for the sake of Europe’s “mission.”[7] Fanon, no doubt, felt that the burden of that history, and its carnage convinced him that violence—at least with respect to Algeria’s part in the unfolding drama—was the required passageway through which the colonized must travel in order “[f]or Europe, for ourselves and for humanity, [… to] make a new start, develop a new way of thinking, and endeavor to create a new man.”[8]


[1] Ahluwalia, Out of Africa, 62.

[2] As Fanon puts it, “I was committed to myself and my fellow man, to fight with all my life and all my strength so that never again would people be enslaved on this earth” (Black Skin, White Masks, 202).

[3] Contra claims by critics such as the notable Hannah Arendt that Fanon makes violence an end in itself, David Macey contends that “[t]he violence Fanon evokes is instrumental and he never dwells or gloats on its effects. […] The ALN was fighting a war and armies are not normally called upon to justify their violence” (Frantz Fanon: A Biography, 475). For a similar argument against Arendt’s conclusion, see also, Young, Postcolonialism, 281.

[4] Ahluwalia develops this analogy between colonialism and disease, relating it to Fanon’s medical training and his strategy for decolonization.  See, for example, Out of Africa, 63–6.

[5] As Fanon’s writings attest, the Algerian struggle for liberation was no doubt his concrete working paradigm. See also, Macey, Frantz Fanon: A Biography, esp. the chapter entitled, “The Wretched of the Earth.” Given the atrocities committed against the Algerian people, Macey draws attention to the appropriateness of Francis Jeason’s book title, L’Algérie hors la loi (ibid., 476).

[6] Ibid., 64.

[7] Macey catalogues several vivid examples of the long history of violence carried out by the French on the Algerian people. In 1845, for instance, there were three occasions in which civilians (including children) and freedom fighters were driven into caves. The French troops then lit large fires in the entranceways, causing the people inside to die from “asphyxiation and smoke inhalation” (Frantz Fanon: A Biography, 476).

[8] Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth, 239.

Fanon as “Specular Border Intellectual” Par Excellence

Frantz_Fanon_The_Wretched_of_the_EarthFrantz Fanon, born on July 20, 1925, and a native of the French colony, Martinique, belonged to a small group of black Martinicans afforded the opportunity to study at the Lycée.[1] As Pal Ahluwalia notes, “[g]rowing up within the French system of education had a profound influence on Fanon,” one designed to impress upon his mind the idea of a natural, even necessary connection between France and liberty “that made every French colonial subject believe that they were linked inextricably to France.”[2] Seeing himself at that time as one to whom the French slogan, liberté, égalité, fraternité, applied, Fanon decided to join the Free French Army in 1944 to fight against Germany. His wartime experiences brought about a crisis in his identity. In Martinique, Fanon had always thought of himself as French. However, when he joined the French Army, he encountered his first bitter taste of racism both from fellow soldiers and from the French population—in spite of the fact that he had been awarded the “Croix de Guerre for bravery.”[3]Frantz Fanon_02

Returning to Martinique and attempting to piece together his fragmented identity, Fanon decided to utilize the scholarships available for war veterans and thus moved to Paris in order to study medicine at the University of Lyons.[4] He defended his medical thesis in 1951 and then began his residency in psychiatry at the Hôpital de Saint-Alban.[5] During this period of study, Fanon found himself in the midst of a community pierced with racial strife; yet, this was also a time when he was exposed to new political ideas. In October 1952 Fanon married Marie-Josèphe Dublé, and in the following year (November 1953), they moved to Algiers where Fanon served as medical director of Blida-Joinville Hospital, Algeria’s largest psychiatric hospital.[6] While serving at this hospital, Fanon “came into close contact with Algerians fighting for independence as well as French police officers, both victims of the colonial experience,” and eventually joined forces with “the Algerian freedom fighters in their struggle for independence from French colonization.”[7] Compelled by his conscience given the atrocities he witnessed in Algeria, in 1956 Fanon resigned from his position as medical director of Blida-Joinville Hospital.[8] That same year Fanon wrote Toward the African Revolution, in which he highlights the complex role Algeria played in the French colonizing project.

“Algeria, a settlement transformed by decree into metropolitan territory, has lived under police and military domination never equaled in a colonial country. This is explained first of all by the fact that Algeria has practically never laid down its arms since 1830. But above all, France is not unaware of Algeria’s importance in its colonial structure, and its obstinacy and its incalculable efforts can only be explained by the certainty that Algeria’s independence would very shortly bring about the crumbling of its empire. Situated at France’s gateway, Algeria reveals to the Western world in detail, as though in slow motion, the contradiction of the colonial situation.”[9]

In light of Fanon’s active involvement with radical political movements, he was expelled from Algeria in 1957. Now known as committed member of the National Liberation Front (FLN), Fanon was subject of several assassination attempts.[10] In 1960, he was diagnosed with leukemia and died the following year while seeking medical treatment in the United States.

As Ahluwalia underscores, “Fanon’s Algerian locatedness is critical.”[11] Employing Abdul JanMohamed’s distinction between a “specular” and a “syncretic border intellectual,” Ahluwalia categories Fanon as a specular border intellectual par excellence. According to JanMohamed, while both types are border intellectuals in that “they find themselves located between (two or more) groups or cultures, with which they are more or less familiar, one can draw a distinction between them based on the intentionality of their intellectual orientation” with respect to a particular culture.[12] In contrast with the specular type, the “syncretic border intellectual” is more “’at home’ in both cultures,” and “is able to combine elements of the two cultures in order to articulate new syncretic forms and experiences.”[13] While equally acquainted with and knowledgeable of both cultures, “the specular border intellectual” is not able to find a “home” in either cultures and operates in a liminal existence. Straddling multiple communities, “the specular intellectual subjects the cultures to analytic scrutiny rather than combining them; he or she utilizes his or her interstitial space as a vantage point from which to define, implicitly or explicitly, other utopian possibilities of group formation.”[14] Fanon, operating in his own “interstitial space” having experienced the contradictions of the colonial system, is compelled to challenge the Enlightenment’s proclamation of “the triumph of reason and the promises of the French empire that, at least theoretically, accorded to its colonial subjects the same rights as in the metropole.”[15] Fanon’s suspicions about the universal application of the French appropriation of Enlightenment-inspired narratives of progress and freedom for all eventually grew into discontent and disillusionment. As Fanon grappled with the “absurdity of the colonial world” and its “dehumanizing effects on the Algerian population,” he began “to consider the possibility of a new society in which both the coloniser and the colonised are transformed through a new humanism, one that is by no means the humanism of the Enlightenment.”[16]

Stay tuned for additional future posts on Fanon’s “historically attuned humanism.”


[1] Ahluwalia, Out of Africa, 55.

[2] Ibid., 55.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Ibid.

[7] Ibid., 56. Ahluwalia’s text, Out of Africa, stresses the significance of understanding not only Fanon, but Sartre, Camus, Derrida, Cixous, and a host of other “border intellectuals” in relation to their Algerian ties, both literal and metaphorical.

[8] Fanon published his letter of resignation in his work, Toward the African Revolution. Here are a few relevant excerpts: “Madness is one of the means man has of losing his freedom. And I can say, on the basis of what I have been able to observe from this point of vantage, that the degree of alienation of the inhabitants of this country appears to me frightening. If psychiatry is the medical technique that aims to enable man no longer to be a stranger to his environment, I owe it to myself to affirm that the Arab, permanently an alien in his own country, lives in a state of absolute depersonalization. What is the status of Algeria? A systematized de-humanization. It was an absurd gamble to undertake at whatever cost, to bring into existence a certain number of values, when the lawlessness, the inequality, the multi-daily murder of man were raised to the status of legislative principles. The social structure existing in Algeria was hostile to any attempt to put the individual back where he belonged” (ibid., 65).

[9] Ibid., 65.

[10] Ahluwalia, Out of Africa, 56. As Robert Young points out, although Fanon “took no part in the FLN military campaigns, apart from organizing a new supply route through Mali in 1960,” he did “play a significant part in the international political campaigns which the FLN, more than the French themselves, realized was of almost equal significance to the physical struggle” (Postcolonialism, 277).

[11] Ibid., 57.

[12] JanMohamed, ““Worldliness-without-World,” 97.

[13] Ibid.

[14] Ibid. JanMohamed lists W.E.B. du Bois, Richard Wright, and Zora Neale Hurston as examples of specular intellectuals and playwright Wole Soyinka and novelists Salman Rushdie and Anton Shammas as examples of syncretic intellectuals (ibid.).

[15] Ahluwalia, Out of Africa, 41.

[16] Ibid., 54.