ALTHOUGH newspapers in isiZulu, a Southern Bantu language, have existed since the mid-1800s, only Ilanga lase Natal, founded in 1903, has survived. But the readership for isiZulu literature is massive.

IsiZulu is the majority language in South Africa; 23 per cent of the population speaks it as their first language.

Yet English and Afrikaans are the majority languages for the country’s publishing industry because of the politics of settler-colonialism and the persistent legacy of the apartheid regime that ended formally with democracy in 1994.

One scholar called The Wretched of the Earth “a handbook for liberation.” The genesis and focus of this book of five chapters is the Algerian revolution (1954-62).

Fanon uses examples and lessons from the African continent, the Caribbean and beyond to show the similarities in how colonialism works and how revolutions unfold in response.

His ideas on independence are pertinent to countries that have been under colonial rule, the African continent included. His writing straddles disciplines — politics, philosophy and psychiatry — as he shares his ideas and draws from his observations, experiences and the writings of others in Martinique, France, Algeria and Tunisia, countries he lived in.

The first chapter discusses the common-sensical armed struggle response to the violence of colonisation and how this necessity changes after independence when everything must be reconsidered.

In chapter two Fanon discusses the gap between the rural or peasant masses and traditional leaders and the people in towns, mostly political party cadres. It analyses the differences and calls for a “more flexible, more agile response” when addressing these differences.

The third chapter is an analysis of what happens after the revolution against domination and oppression ends and independence is won. Fanon demonstrates how some of the formerly colonised people — party politicians, the national bourgeoisie, intellectuals, cultural practitioners, former activists, and more — take positions that are opposed to the revolutionary ones. They engage in actions that betray the revolution, like ultranationalism, corruption, patronage, chauvinism and more.

The fourth chapter addresses issues of national culture. Fanon makes the argument that this needs to change after independence and focus on building everything anew.

In the final chapter he uses case studies of his Algerian and French patients at the psychiatric hospital in Blida, Algeria. Fanon clarifies the connections between the impact of colonial struggle on mental health.

In the epilogue he calls for a humanity that is different from that of colonisers.

Fanon remains relevant today for many reasons. For instance, in the third chapter, he analyses “the trials and tribulations” of national consciousness in a manner that resonates with South Africa.

The poor showing of the African National Congress (ANC), the former liberation movement, in the country’s 2024 elections is proof that South Africans have had enough of the spectacular failures of the ANC-led government.

Fanon challenges us to rethink all human relations. For me as a woman living in South Africa, known as the “rape capital of the world,” and as a black person who still experiences racism, this call to rethink humanity feels urgent.

The Bill of Rights asserts our dignity, freedom and equality, yet abusers, racists and rapists do the opposite; they dehumanise us.

It is easier today to point out what is wrong and challenge government, politicians and employers (and we should!) but how do we learn to challenge ourselves so that as perpetrators and victims we are on new journeys of rethinking human relations?

Fanon begins the book’s conclusion of four-and-a-half pages with these words: “Now, comrades, now is the time to decide to change sides. We must shake off the great mantle of night which has enveloped us, and reach for the light. A new day which is dawning must find us determined, enlightened and resolute.”

It takes self-reflection to arrive at determination, enlightenment and being resolute.

Fanon was a writer like many others that I read and liked because they made a lot of sense. I was aware that he is revered within the activist circles where I moved. As I read the ever-growing scholarly studies of Fanon, I realised that his ideas had even more currency in the world than they did in my head.

One book on the translations of The Wretched of the Earth into other languages contextualises each of the translations and unsurprisingly most of these translations appeared in moments of heightened political activism in the various countries.

Fanon has become somebody of much relevance to me now that I have translated The Wretched of the Earth it has also initiated me into translation of such works into isiZulu.

Makhosazana Xaba is associate professor of practice at the Faculty of Humanities, University of Johannesburg.

This article is republished from TheConversation.com under a Creative Commons licence.