Tahar Ben Jelloun - By Fire - Writings on the Arab Spring

Mohamed Bouazizi decided to end his life. But how could he bring himself to self-immolate by fire? This is certainly not part of the Maghrebi tradition and culture, nor part of Islam, which forbids it. The one who defies God by taking his own life will repeat the same act for infinity. Mohamed must have seen images of monks self-immolating; or perhaps he heard about it. This act is spectacular; it’s directly significant and without ambiguity. Fire leaves nothing. It destroys everything. It inflicts terrible agony. Mohamed set himself on fire in public, in front of the town hall, in front of this government building that refused to listen to him and do him justice. He knew he had lost his cart for good, that the police would never return it, that their superiors wouldn’t take his side and help him. He knew that the poor in his country are condemned just for being poor. So his despair must lead to something that could, perhaps, capture the attention of the indifferent, those who were unjust, those who were powerless to do anything other than protect their own interests, and those who were oblivious to the fate of a street vendor.

Hang himself at home? That would serve nothing… Cut his veins? Not that either… Fill himself with sleeping pills? He can’t afford to buy them, and also, that would be a silent suicide; people would say: the poor man, he had a peaceful death… death in his sleep! No, Mohamed wanted to die and make his death become a useful act for others, useful for the poor, useful for the country. Perhaps he didn’t think at all about his country, but while dousing himself with gasoline and clicking a lighter, he must have had the time to think about his mother, his brothers and sisters, maybe also about his father; he must have thought it’s better to join his father instead of living in humiliation, without dignity, without money, victim of small bastards’ whims; their venom is as terrible as that of big bastards.

The fire ignited instantly. He didn’t move. When people ran to save him, it was too late. The fire was faster than they were; the fire had done its job. Mohamed was still breathing, but it was the breath of a charred body, a body whose soul already smelled the perfume of heaven, or, perhaps, the flames of hell. He was transported to a hospital in Sfax, then to the Burn Center in Ben Arous near Tunis. The body started to crackle. The soul couldn’t get out, trapped by ash and held prisoner in a body that was no longer a body, but an example of what humiliation can provoke.

His body lay on the hospital bed wrapped in bandages. Many hoped that, magically, the bandages would suddenly unroll before their eyes and the TV cameras, and that, little by little, a frail, new body would appear in its place as though propelled by an angel or a god who would have mercy on this poor man, a man who had just sacrificed his life for about 11 million people.

On December 19, the people of Sidi Bouzid started demonstrating. This was the beginning of what later came to be known as the Jasmine Revolution.

A few days later, on December 28, Ben Ali visited Mohamed Bouazizi, who was glued to the hospital bed. These were grotesque images of a president trying to appear paternal, but having the air of someone inwardly cursing this poor bastard whose action triggered the first demonstrations. But this man, whose body has turned into that of a mummy, won’t be here for long. He dies on January 4. Ten days later, Ben Ali’s regime gives up the ghost. The president flees, begs for asylum here and there, and then ends up going to Jeddah, land of Islam that cannot refuse hospitality to a Muslim. As for his wife and family, they’re already far away.

That’s how Mohamed Bouazizi unwittingly became a hero. His sacrifice had been worthwhile. This was, no doubt, what he had hoped for, but neither he nor anyone else could have foreseen what followed. With calm and dignity, Tunisians rose as one. It was the police who were violent; their brutality left several dozen dead and hundreds of others wounded. Submissive for twenty-three years to a quiet dictatorship, the people succeeded in bringing down Ben Ali, his family, and his racketeering and mafia clan.

In 2009, Ben Ali had taken office again with a ridiculously low and humiliating number of votes. (He, though, claimed that more than 89 percent of the citizens elected him. The people felt mocked and held in contempt.) According to a reliable source, only 24.7 percent of Tunisian voters went to the polling locations. The petition, signed a few months later by important people in the eyes of the regime, encouraged Ben Ali to run again in 2014. It was really grotesque. We now know more precisely the extent of harm that Ben Ali caused. According to the February 7, 2011, edition of the Tunisian newspaper, La Presse , the regime hid from the people the real rate of unemployment, immigration, academic failure, and so on. According to the same newspaper, the unemployment rate among college graduates was 44.9 percent, while the rate among the youth of age eighteen to twenty-nine was 29.8 percent; more than 1 million high school students dropped out between 2004 and 2009. Finally, 70 percent of young Tunisians admitted wanting to emigrate by any means.

More important than the Ben Ali regime’s abuses, which continue to be uncovered, is that Bouazizi’s death helped establish Tunisia as an exemplar of political change in the Arab world. People were justified in describing this event as a conflagration with contagious effects. In the weeks following Mohamed Bouazizi’s death, Egyptians took up Tunisia’s example despite their more powerful and fierce Raïs.

While Mubarak has a headache, what is Ben Ali, the Tunisian, who fled from his country on January 14, doing? He exiled himself in Saudi Arabia. European banks froze a part of his wealth, as well as all his real-estate holdings in France (his own and that of his clan); he must prove that they were acquired with clean money, such as his salary, for example. One of his private jets was also detained in France at the Bourget Airport.

What does he do with his days? He watches television. He just lies around. He doesn’t feel like coloring his hair. He is depressed. He lives in a gilded prison. He is not able to go out even for a coffee in the nearest shopping center. He would like to cry. He sees again Mohamed Bouazizi’s bandaged body and curses him. Ben Ali doesn’t believe in God anymore. It’s because God sides with the poor at present, with people in Mohamed Bouazizi’s condition. “It took that idiot to get carried away by anger, set his clothes on fire, so that I, who brought prosperity to Tunisians, today find myself in this palace, alone, without friends, without my toys, without anything! Also, these television channels around the world will say anything. My head is filled with all sorts of images, but the journalists care only about fawda , the disorder and panic. Revolution? In reality, it’s just chaos. They’re going to destroy everything in this beautiful country. At least, I managed to bring millions of tourists; I created a middle class; I got rid of the Islamists; I worked to reassure the West, and now everybody’s turning away from me. Human beings are ungrateful. I hate humanity. I hate this palace, this excessive air conditioning, and these Kleenex boxes with golden covers. I hate this yellow and white landscape, and I don’t like the food. But I couldn’t care less; I’m not hungry. This son of a bitch Bouazizi has destroyed my life. The country wanted chaos; well, they’ve got it. If this is what they like, let them enjoy it. These people are ungrateful and cowards. They bent over backward when they came to me for a job or favor. Today they swagger! Poor guys! They’re pathetic! Doing this to me, who has sacrificed myself for them! They have been slow to wake up. Assholes, men without balls. If God exists, if the last Day of Judgment exists, there will be an extraordinary confrontation.