A haunting encounter with the past sparks a bold reevaluation of France's colonial legacy.
Imagine fleeing the trauma of a brutal war, only building a new life to be confronted by a ghost from your past – a towering statue symbolizing the very oppression you escaped. This was the reality for Malek Kellou, an Algerian immigrant in France, whose story highlights the enduring scars of colonialism and the complex relationship between France and Algeria. But here's where it gets controversial: What happens when these ghosts aren't just in our minds, but etched in stone, staring back at us from public squares?
For decades, Kellou carried the weight of Algeria's bloody struggle for independence, a conflict that left deep psychological wounds. He found solace in silence, building a new life in France, the former colonial power. Yet, one winter morning, a chance encounter shattered his carefully constructed shield. In his adopted hometown of Nancy, he came face-to-face with a monument eerily familiar – the statue of Sgt Blandan, a French hero of the 19th-century Algerian conquest. This statue, once a symbol of terror in his childhood, now stood as a stark reminder of a history he thought he'd left behind.
And this is the part most people miss: The statue wasn't just a relic of the past; it was a trigger, reigniting memories of a war that shaped his identity. His mother's words, spoken in the Berber Tamazight language of his native Kabylie, echoed in his mind: "Shut up and eat your orange." This phrase, now inscribed on a gleaming metal sheet facing the statue, serves as a powerful counterpoint, a voice from the colonized challenging the dominant narrative.
This "counter-monument," known as the Disorientation Table, is more than just a physical structure. It's a provocation, a mirror held up to French society, forcing it to confront its colonial past. Designed by artist Colin Ponthot and commissioned by Nancy's leading museum, it challenges the heroic, domineering discourse of colonial statuary. It invites passersby, whose features are reflected in its surface, to fill the gaps in France's history and reflect on a past that continues to haunt a large swath of society, poisoning both politics and relations with Algeria.
The statue of Sgt Blandan, glorified in French military lore for his supposed heroism in battling Arab cavalrymen, exemplifies the 'statuemania' of France's Third Republic. Historian Julie Marquet explains how these monuments were used to promote civic models and celebrate 'great men,' often ordinary soldiers elevated to heroic status. This 'statuemania' was particularly pronounced in Algeria, where civic authorities sought to assert control over the conquered territory and its people. The towering statues, perched on high pedestals, dominated public spaces, their menacing presence leaving a lasting impression on the colonized, like young Kellou.
The question of what to do with these colonial relics is deeply divisive. Some, like French President Emmanuel Macron, advocate for preserving them, arguing for a 'recognition of facts' and a 'reconciliation of memories.' Others, inspired by global anti-racism movements, demand their removal, seeing them as symbols of oppression and trauma. The case of 11 anticolonial activists in Martinique, who tore down statues of colonial figures, highlights the intensity of this debate.
The Nancy approach offers a third path – not erasure, but contextualization. As Mayor Mathieu Klein stated at the inauguration of the counter-monument, 'It is not a matter of tearing down statues... but of contextualizing them and, when history demands it, accompanying them with a work that offers a different perspective.' This approach, championed by historian Marquet, sees the counter-monument not as an alternative to statue toppling, but as a complementary initiative, allowing for a more nuanced and inclusive understanding of history.
Dorothée-Myriam Kellou, Malek's daughter, whose investigative efforts helped her father confront his past, feels ambivalent about the statue's removal. 'When I asked him whether he would have it removed, he suggested using it as a memorial medium instead,' she recalls. The statue, she explains, became a catalyst for her father to share his story, a story that might have remained untold otherwise.
The Disorientation Table, with its inscription inviting viewers to 'peer into the unvarnished mirror of our memory,' challenges us to confront the rough edges of history, to acknowledge the multiple memories that shape France's post-colonial society. It's a call for a more honest and inclusive reckoning with the past, one that doesn't shy away from the complexities and contradictions of colonialism.
But the question remains: Can France truly reconcile its colonial past without confronting the full extent of its atrocities? Can statues, even when contextualized, ever fully escape their original purpose as tools of domination? The debate rages on, a testament to the enduring power of history to shape our present and our future.
