Time Marches On, For Whom the Bell Tolls

In 1896, after years of indirect rule as a virtual client state of France, Madagascar became an official French colony. As happened throughout the world, the colonizing power exploited a country poor in Western terms but rich in natural resources (and, in a not altogether unrelated aside, rich in culture as well). Of course, along with the exploitation came the means to extract these resources. This meant infrastructure such as roads, railroads, factories, ports, and of course bureaucracy. After more than 6 decades of colonial rule (which included a bloody revolt in 1947 that turned from Malagasy-against-French to intertribal killing amongst the Malagasy), Madagascar achieved its independence on June 26, 1960. Once again similar to other former colonies, when the French left they left behind their many infrastructure and industrial achievements, and very few trained professionals to operate them. The same could be said for the bureaucracy left in place…

Colonialism in Madagascar ran a shorter term than in many countries, and with only the one major uprising mentioned above, it could be said that colonialism was much more peaceful and perhaps benevolent than in other countries that now fall under the umbrella term “developing world.” But bloodshed alone cannot denote a negative impact on a culture; I have heard stories of psychological and emotional distress from older Malagasy people that show colonialism’s darker side quite clearly. I have often thought that the reason there was not more armed rebellion against colonialism here in Madagascar is that the Malagasy people have a strong abhorrence to bloodshed and violence. Even in the recent political crises of 2009 and 2002, when most of the world predicted outright civil war in Madagascar, the crises was notably absent of the major bloodshed forecasted (I do not mean to belittle the deaths that did occur, which were met with general mourning). Colonialism played a major part in many people’s lives, and continues to influence Madagascar today. There are certainly mental and emotional scars to be found throughout Madagascar of colonialism’s role; both in the elderly Malagasy who remember it and the younger people who grew up in its wake.

There are also physical scars. Here I am actually not referring to the environmental degradation for which Madagascar has achieved international infamy, although plenty could be written about deforestation of native trees, reforestation with exotic species (mostly Eucalyptus), and the destruction of native habitats of numerous unique species of flora and fauna. But in all fairness, this was happening long before the French arrived, and has continued mostly unfettered since their departure. And it was the French who instituted early conservation measures.

What I am referring to is the physical achievements of the white man’s burden, abandoned when those same white men became an unbearable burden on the local black men. These include the roads, railroads, ports, buildings, and other aspects of infrastructure vital to any country. Many of these achievements have been rendered unusable, and even ruined, by that unbiased destroyer, neglect. In my area, two notable examples are regularly apparent: the railroad and colonial houses. I live near Lac Alaotra, Madagascar’s biggest lake and an agricultural center for much of the country. Aside from being an excellent example of environmental degradation (the lake is only 60cm deep in the dry season due to silt from erosion), it was a major colonial center in its day. As such, a major railroad runs up to Ambatondrazaka, the main city, and around the lake. The railroad itself is in poor condition from Moramanga to Ambatondrazaka, much like the accompanying road which is 160km long, about 130 of which are a dirt/mud mess, and trains rarely (if ever?) traverse it. But once north of Ambatondrazaka, the railroad is completely useless. I mean that as in it gets no use. The railroad is completely overgrown, with small shacks erected upon the rails where local people sell bread or vegetables to passing bush taxis (taxi-brousses). In fact, most of the metal rails have fallen from the tracks, and lay useless on the side of the road. These do not seem to be maliciously removed, but just suffered from the weather and neglect. At least the wooden ties seem to have been taken for other uses; the rails just continue to lay there, unused and unwanted. It is Sherman’s march to the sea, but the weapon utilized was disinterest and disregard. This is what caught my attention, as surely there are uses for long pieces of metal for poor rural people who are very creative in adapting other materials as needed (old tin cans into lamps, watering cans, toys, etc.). But for some reason, no one wants to bother with them, and certainly there is no interest on a governmental level to refurbish and rebuild this railroad. The remnants of the Lac Alaotra railroad just serve as a history pundit’s colorful metaphor: the Rust of Colonialism.

Also, dwellings in the area recall the days of French rule. There are a number of large colonial houses still standing in my market town, which overlooks the lake. They have large verandas, nice tiled roofs, and appear to still be in pretty good shape. And they are uninhabited. These houses are the nicest and largest in town, and yet for the most part no one lives in them. I do not know the reason, which could range from ownership to structural decay to simple dislike for living in former colonial houses. All I can say is that it is interesting what remains of the colonial days, and the general disregard for much of these reminders.

Well I did not set out to make some anti-imperial treatise (plenty of others have done that already, and doubtless much better than I could). Nor will I even think about getting into the continuation of colonialism through other means, namely through the world of international aid (just read another interesting book on this, Tropical Gangsters. Also see: Backstabbing for Beginners on the Oil for Food Scandal in Iraq, White Man’s Burden, Road to Hell, etc.). Those topics are complex to say the least. All I want to do is point out these few examples, and ponder how the sands of time reclaim man’s achievements. Whoa, now we’re getting philosophical?? That’s what happens sometimes at site!

Enough of these ramblings! More to come soon, hopefully, as I am planning a trek with the park service into the Zahamena National Park near my site in a few weeks. The plan for the future is to do some trail work/maintenance in the park as well as some agricultural work with the communities living near the park. Should be interesting, and some other things are developing, slowly, work-wise, so check back soon! Well, soon in Madagascar time, which would be “soon-soon” or “soon-ish.”