Franz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth

Violence, Division, and Liberation: Fanon’s Vision in The Wretched of the Earth

Frantz Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth (1961) stands as one of the most powerful critiques of colonialism and its psychological, cultural, and political consequences. Written during the height of the Algerian War of Independence, Fanon’s work does not merely describe colonial oppression—it dissects its anatomy, revealing how violence, racism, and systemic domination deform both the colonizer and the colonized. Among the many themes Fanon explores, two stand out as foundational to his philosophy: the role of violence in colonialism and the Manichaean structure of the colonial world. These two ideas are deeply interlinked, for Fanon argues that colonialism is sustained through a violent dualism—an absolute moral, racial, and spatial division—that only revolutionary violence can undo.

1. The Role of Violence in Colonialism

Fanon begins The Wretched of the Earth with an unapologetic assertion: “Decolonization is always a violent phenomenon.” This statement shocks many modern readers, but Fanon does not glorify violence for its own sake. Rather, he presents it as an inevitable and necessary reaction to the violence that built and sustains colonial rule.

Colonialism, according to Fanon, is not a simple political arrangement or cultural exchange—it is an act of conquest. The colonizer does not persuade the native; he dominates him through force. The colonial world, Fanon writes, “is a world cut in two,” and this division is maintained “by bayonets and cannons.” In other words, violence is not only the method of colonial conquest but the very language of colonial order.

The Systemic Nature of Colonial Violence

Fanon describes colonialism as an all-encompassing system of physical, psychological, and epistemic violence. It is physical because it enslaves bodies, extracts resources, and enforces labor through coercion. It is psychological because it implants inferiority in the colonized mind, teaching the native to see himself as less human. It is epistemic because it silences indigenous knowledge, rewriting history to glorify Europe as the source of all civilization.

This totalizing violence operates through institutions—law, religion, education, and even medicine—that normalize the domination of the colonized. The colonizer calls himself a “civilizer,” while the colonized is cast as a savage. Violence, therefore, becomes moralized; the colonizer sees his brutality as benevolent correction.

Fanon exposes this hypocrisy when he writes that the colonizer’s world is “a world compartmentalized, Manichaean, immobile.” Every stone, every checkpoint, every police patrol reminds the native of his submission. The colonizer’s peace is a violent peace; it depends on the constant suppression of rebellion. Hence, the violence of decolonization is not the beginning of conflict—it is the response to a pre-existing condition of oppression.

Violence as a Means of Liberation

For Fanon, the violence of the colonized is both psychological catharsis and political necessity. Centuries of humiliation, dispossession, and racial degradation produce a suppressed rage within the colonized population. When this rage erupts in rebellion, it becomes a moment of rebirth. Fanon writes that through violence, the native “rediscovers his lost self-respect” and “throws himself into action with a nearly pathological intensity.” In this process, the colonized subject transforms from a passive victim into an active agent of history.

Fanon’s notion of revolutionary violence is not only about overthrowing the colonizer but also about restoring humanity to both parties. The colonizer, by dehumanizing others, has also dehumanized himself—he has become a monster who justifies murder through civilization. Only when the colonized rise up can both sides confront the reality of this dehumanization and begin to rebuild a new, egalitarian order.

The Ambiguity of Violence

Yet Fanon is not naïve about the dangers of violence. He acknowledges that revolutionary struggle can produce new hierarchies and betrayals. Once independence is achieved, the revolutionary fervor may give way to the corruption of the national bourgeoisie, a class that mimics the colonizer’s exploitative behavior. Thus, while violence may destroy colonial domination, it does not automatically guarantee justice or equality. The challenge, Fanon insists, is to channel revolutionary energy into the construction of a new, humanist society that transcends both colonial and capitalist models of domination.

Violence as Historical Force

Fanon’s analysis must also be understood in the context of global politics. In the mid-20th century, anticolonial struggles in Africa, Asia, and Latin America were confronting the might of European empires. These were not metaphorical battles but literal wars for independence—Algeria, Kenya, Vietnam, India. Fanon saw in these struggles the possibility of creating a new world order based on solidarity among the formerly colonized. He believed that revolutionary violence could shatter the hierarchy of empire and open the way to a truly decolonized consciousness.

However, Fanon’s call for violence should not be read as a universal doctrine of bloodshed but as a profound diagnosis of historical reality. For him, colonialism cannot be undone by negotiation because it was never founded on reason or morality—it was founded on brute force. As long as the colonizer understands only the language of violence, liberation must speak in the same tongue.

In essence, Fanon reclaims violence as a political language of the oppressed, transforming it from a tool of domination into an instrument of liberation. Violence, for him, is not chaos but the birth cry of a new humanity.

  

From here you can explore more about Colonialism, Racism, and Violence

 2.Manichaeism in the Colonial Context

Closely linked to Fanon’s discussion of violence is his concept of Manichaeism, which he uses to describe the binary structure of colonial ideology. Borrowing the term from ancient dualist philosophy, which divided the world into forces of good and evil, Fanon argues that colonialism reproduces this moral absolutism to justify domination.

In the colonial world, the colonizer and the colonized occupy radically opposed moral, spatial, and racial categories. The European is pure, rational, and human; the native is dirty, emotional, and subhuman. This rigid division does not simply reflect prejudice—it forms the foundation of the colonial order.

The Manichaean World: A Divided Reality

In the chapter “On Violence,” Fanon describes colonial society as a “Manichaean world” split into two zones. The European quarter is clean, orderly, and brightly lit; the native quarter is filthy, chaotic, and overcrowded. These spatial distinctions symbolize deeper moral hierarchies: the colonizer represents civilization, while the colonized represents barbarism.

This Manichaean logic is not accidental—it is essential to maintaining control. By constructing the colonized as the embodiment of evil or chaos, the colonizer justifies his presence as a moral duty. The missionary, the teacher, and the soldier all see themselves as purifiers of darkness. The colonizer thus turns domination into salvation.

Fanon writes, “The colonial world is a world divided into compartments… The colonist is not content with physically limiting the space of the colonized; he also turns to the past of the colonized people and distorts, disfigures, and destroys it.” This double domination—over space and over memory—ensures that the colonized internalize their supposed inferiority.

Manichaeism and Psychological Colonization

The most insidious effect of colonial Manichaeism is psychological. Over time, the colonized begin to accept the colonizer’s categories of good and evil. They learn to despise their own language, culture, and appearance. The black skin becomes a mark of shame, while the white man becomes a symbol of perfection. Fanon famously explored this psychic wound in his earlier work, Black Skin, White Masks, where he described how the colonized subject wears a metaphorical “white mask” to gain acceptance in a racist society.

In The Wretched of the Earth, this internal division manifests as self-hatred and mimicry. The native intellectual, educated in colonial schools, often becomes alienated from his own people. He dreams of equality within the colonizer’s framework rather than liberation from it. Fanon sees this as the tragic result of the Manichaean structure—it produces a divided self, torn between two incompatible worlds.

From Division to Revolt

Yet Fanon also believes that this very structure sows the seeds of its own destruction. Because the Manichaean world is built on violence and exclusion, it is inherently unstable. The colonized eventually recognize that the supposed “order” of the colonizer’s world is founded on their suffering. Once this realization dawns, the moral hierarchy collapses. The native no longer sees himself as inferior but as the rightful inheritor of his own land and culture. Fanon writes, “The colonized man liberates himself in and through violence.”

Revolution, then, is not only political but metaphysical—it overturns the moral universe of colonialism. The colonized reject the colonizer’s false dichotomies of good and evil, civilized and savage, white and black. In their place, they create a new humanism that affirms the dignity of all.

Manichaeism Beyond the Colony

Fanon’s analysis of colonial Manichaeism extends beyond the specific context of European empire. It exposes a broader logic of racial capitalism that persists even after formal decolonization. The binary oppositions of “developed” and “underdeveloped,” “First World” and “Third World,” “modern” and “primitive” continue to structure global inequality. The same moral hierarchy that once justified colonization now sustains economic and cultural domination under globalization.

In this sense, Fanon’s critique remains strikingly relevant. The Manichaean logic of colonialism did not disappear with the end of empire; it was transformed into new forms of ideological control. The global North still imagines itself as the guardian of progress, while the South is cast as perpetually lacking, needing aid, instruction, and discipline. Fanon’s vision invites us to question these hierarchies and to imagine a world beyond binary divisions—a world of mutual recognition and solidarity.

Violence and Manichaeism: Two Faces of the Same Reality

The connection between Fanon’s concepts of violence and Manichaeism is profound. The colonial world is divided through violence and maintained through Manichaean ideology. Violence enforces the separation between colonizer and colonized, while Manichaeism gives it moral legitimacy. The colonizer must believe he is good, and the native is evil; otherwise, the entire structure of domination collapses.

But the same logic ensures that liberation must also be violent, both physically and symbolically. The colonized must destroy not only the colonizer’s weapons but also his myths. Decolonization is therefore a double revolution—one that transforms the material world and the world of meaning.

Conclusion: Toward a New Humanism

In The Wretched of the Earth, Fanon’s ultimate goal is not perpetual violence or endless division but the creation of a new humanism. He envisions a world where humanity is no longer defined by colonial binaries, where dignity replaces domination, and where solidarity replaces hierarchy. But this vision, he insists, cannot be achieved without confronting the violence that lies at the heart of colonialism.

To decolonize is to heal the wound of Manichaeism—to refuse the categories of “good” and “evil” that have been used to justify exploitation. It is to reclaim the power of self-definition. And if violence becomes the means of this reclamation, it is only because violence was the original language of oppression.

Thus, for Fanon, the role of violence and the logic of Manichaeism are not merely historical observations—they are existential truths about the modern world. His work challenges us to recognize the hidden continuities of colonial power in our own time and to imagine, however painfully, the possibility of a world truly free from its shadow.