The Myth

In the film, The Baader Meinhof Complex, just as the character Horst Harold had predicted, the Red Army Faction regenerated and evolved. Andreas makes a point of saying that, compared to the second and third generations of the faction, they’re actions seem relatively mild. The first generation, under the orders of Andreas, Gudrun, and Ulrike, was guided by a different central policy and a different morality. Andreas and Gudrun, having initiated the once distant and skeptical Ulrike, become the intellectuals. When the movie begins, Ulrike, as a journalist, appears to be the revolutionary intellectual of the movement, but she quickly leaves behind her “intellectual masturbation” for action. Driving down the road, Andreas hands Peter a gun. “Only a gun makes things fun,” he says to Peter. Peter goes on to become a part of the generation that hijacks the civilian flight, motivated to finish what Andreas and Gudrun started. Motivated by a myth.

 

But the myth here is more than a myth of righteousness, as Horst seems to suggest in the film: it is a myth of roles. The elephant in the room appears to be the thought that intellectuals are as much products of revolutionary moments as they are catalysts. There appears to be a notion of the intellectual as a progressive but constant variable in the equation of revolutionary change, an assumption that the intellectual can see a single, correct outcome of a series of still unknown events, and maintains that vision to the end. More specifically, there is an assumption that the intellectual has the ability to maintain that vision to the end. The intellectual ceases to be human, organic or otherwise. Gudrun is a symbol of this in her search for a “new morality” for the faction. Ulrike Meinhof, once a journalist well-known for her bold writing, becomes a criminal, known for her bold action. The film suggests that fear and panic turned her away from the pen and towards the gun, as well as a need for approval from Gudrun, especially in the scene where they help Andreas escape. She stands at the wall for a moment, stunned, then escapes alongside the others, deviating from the original plan, and essentially “outing” herself as a member of the faction, ending her career as a journalist, and destroying her family. As much of an intellectual character as she was in the film, she clearly didn’t consider those repercussions, and likely didn’t know. The intellectual becomes human.

 

Professor Malekzadeh asked if this isn’t too much Freud? How can fucking and shooting be seen as the same thing? Isn’t this almost psychopathic? Perhaps, but I think that avoids answering the question that Horst tries to answer:

“What motivates them?”

“A myth.”

Healing Colonial Scars

“In order to build the new nation of Haiti. . .”

Considering the revolutionary tension of rupture and continuity, I ask myself to what extent is rupture an attempt at dismantling continuity. It seems self-evident, but this question takes a unique position in the context of the Haitian Revolution. In order to build a new nation of Haiti, Dessalines had to reconstruct the Haitian narrative by reconstructing Haitian revolutionist perceptions of race, indigeneity, and territorial claim.  Dessalines’ army, the “Indigenous Army,” claimed the name Haïti in the name of the Taino people, the original inhabitants of the islands. Dubois draws an interesting parallel between the French and African occupation of the island. What does it mean when the colonized become the colonizers?

 

Dessalines was very aware of this reality. In order to build a new Haiti, the nation had to construct an ancestral claim to the land, making it more of a righteous movement than a political and racial revolution. That is, until the question of who is to be considered Black in the new Black nation. In order to build a new Haiti, the nation had to also redefine constructions around race and racial identity. In various attempts to rupture the colonial legacy on the island, I ask myself how these attempts may have only exacerbated the legacy, simply shifting the lens? In what ways do attempts of historical rupture cause the continuity of historical legacy?

Luke 24:48

The question that sits most on my mind is one of the roles that icons and idols play in the revolutionary memory, and in the success (or failure) of revolt. This line from the Kapuscinski’s Shah of Shahs especially stands out when considering the idea: “He did not understand that even though you can destroy a man, destroying him does not make him cease to exist. On the contrary, if I can put it this way, he begins to exist all the more.” (Kapuscinski 32)

Gandhi, the icon of Indian independence and the Partition of India. Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X, icons of the Civil Rights movement. Khomeini and Mossadegh, icons of opposing sides of Iranian politics. My question is two-fold: first, would these movements have had the impact they did without these icons at the head of the movements? And second, would these movements have the legacy that they do today without these iconic names to tie these histories to? It’s a question of hope and of memory, of how challenging, chaotic events find the hope necessary to continue fighting, and how we remember these events happening.

These names serve as cues that spark a certain emotion, one that changes as time and place do. The name George Washington may incite a sense of American pride, of the founding of an American Dream, as much as it may provoke a memory of the racist, genocidal foundation that the dream is founded on. I always heard of Mahatma Gandhi as an icon of peace and unity but gained an interesting perspective on the controversy behind his legacy while living in India with a Sikh Punjabi family.

I don’t yet know how to answer my own questions, but the evidence seems to point towards icons and especially those who witness these icons and idols as a crucial and ubiquitous element of any mass revolt, both in the moment of revolt and in the memory of that moment.

“You are witnesses of these things.” Luke 24:48