• Dakar et Nairobi : la question des noms de rue mise en perspective, du pré au postcolonial

    Dans le contexte actuel de retour sur les commémorations publiques et de leur éventuelle remise en cause pour leur caractère raciste en lien avec la colonisation, deux spécialistes mettent en perspective les politiques et...

    #African_Neotoponymy_Observatory_in_Network #ExploreNeotopo #Neotopo_vous_signale

    • Nairobi’s street names reveal what those in power want to remember, or forget

      The recent global events of civil and political unrest that started in the US have brought to the fore the complex dynamics of urban memorialisation. The protests have, in some places, led to renewed scrutiny of certain urban symbols such as commemorative statues – what they represent and how they are perceived and interpreted.

      Unlike monuments and statues, place names (toponyms) are intangible, and less imposing, but nevertheless, an indispensable part of the urban symbolic landscape. Their inscription, erasure and re-inscription is highly political.

      In a study of toponymy in Nairobi, Kenya, my colleague and I analysed how streets got their names. It’s important to examine this as street naming and renaming allows us to remember and forget events and people in history. It also articulates what values exist in pursuit of political or national interests.

      We explain how street names are imbued with symbolic references of power structures within a society. During the period of British rule (1895–1963), toponymy was used as an exercise of power – it reflected British control. Soon after Kenya gained independence, streets were renamed as a way to renounce the colonial regime and its ideology.

      But today, Kenyans are starting to question the naming of important public spaces after a few individuals, their families and political affiliates – the ‘political dynasties’.

      In 1964, after Kenya had gained independence, a street naming subcommittee was formed under the town planning committee of Nairobi’s city council. This subcommittee came up with names or received suggestions from the public. There was then a vetting process and proposals were eventually sent to the Minister of Local Government for approval. Since then, different laws have been established to guide the naming and numbering of streets and properties, but the process has remained very much the same.

      Looking forward, the government should consider honouring other people who have contributed to the growth of Kenya as a country – for instance its athletes, academicians and artistes.

      It would also be important to point out how gender exclusive the street names are. For a long time, there was only one street named after a woman – Mama Ngina Street, Mzee Jomo Kenyatta’s wife. And later, after much lobbying, a street was named after Wangari Maathai, the 2004 Nobel Peace Prize winner. And in 2017, after the death of the firstborn daughter of Jomo Kenyatta, Margaret Wambui Kenyatta, Mugumo Road in Lavington was quietly renamed after her.

      How streets are named, or renamed, serves as an important indicator of the values of a society – and what those in power might want to remember, or forget.
      A colonial city

      The vital role of street toponymy in Nairobi emerged at the inception of the city, at the beginning of the 20th Century.

      Street names were used by the British colonisers to remove the indigenous identity of the previously marshy plain, known as Enkare Nyirobi (a place of cool waters), to create a new idyllic British city. Names such as Victoria Street, Coronation Avenue, Kingsway, Queensway and Elizabeth Way marked the modernising city to celebrate the British monarchy.

      In addition, names such as Whitehouse Road and Preston Road were named after railway officials. George Whitehouse, for instance, was the chief engineer of the Kenya-Uganda Railway. This is because Nairobi started as a railway depot.

      Other streets were named after administrative and political leaders of the time such as Hardinge, Elliot, and Sadler, all of whom were commissioners of the British East Africa Protectorate.

      Leading settler farmers and business people also had their names imprinted on the landscape. They included: Grogan Road after Sir Ewart Grogan – a pioneer businessman, and Delamere Avenue, after Lord Delamere – a pioneer settler farmer.

      Apart from the British and European street names, there were a few Indian names such as Bazaar Street and Jevanjee Street. This is because of the large Indian community in Kenya, many of whom originally came to Kenya as railway workers. “Bazaar” refers to a business area or market, while Jevanjee was a prominent Indian businessman in early Nairobi who owned the first newspaper company – The East African Standard.

      What was starkly missing were African street names during that period. This was a clear indication of the political and social dynamics of the time that put the European first, the Indian second and the African third.
      Decolonising and Africanising

      There was a shift at Kenya’s independence, in 1963. The city’s streets were redefined as symbols of nationalism and pan-Africanism. The process was not devoid of challenges. There were inconsistencies – for instance in terms of ethnic representation – owing to the diverse interests that needed to be accommodated. It was an enormous task for the new government.

      Generally, under the new government, street names acted as sites for the restitution of justice (for those that suffered under British rule) and symbols of memory, ethnic diversity and unity.

      The renaming of the streets happened in waves. The first was in 1964, with Delamere Avenue (which cuts the central business district into two) being changed to Kenyatta Avenue, after the first president of Kenya – Jomo Kenyatta. Hardinge Street was changed to Kimathi Avenue after the leader of the Mau Mau Movement – Dedan Kimathi.

      The streets were often renamed after the political elite, a good number of whom came from the Kikuyu community, such as Kenyatta Avenue, Koinange Street, James Gichuru and Harry Thuku Road.

      There’s a lot of political consideration that goes into street renaming too. For instance, in 1969, a street was named after Tom Mboya, a popular Minister who was assassinated that same year. Some called for Government Road (along which he was assassinated) to be named after him, others proposed St. Austin’s Road, along which he lived. Both options were rejected by the government, Government Road being too central and St. Austin’s being too peripheral. Victoria Street was the compromise. Government Road was later renamed to Moi Avenue and St. Austin’s Road to James Gichuru Road.

      In independent Kenya the purpose of the toponymic changes was twofold: to erase names of the colonisers who were deemed as imposters and to celebrate the new heroes: Kenya’s political leaders and freedom fighters. The latter, such as Dedan Kimathi being celebrated superficially by the new political bourgeoisie.

      Additionally, in the spirit of pan-Africanism, other African leaders such as Kwame Nkrumah, Albert Luthuli and Julius Nyerere were celebrated through street names. Beyond the African continent, leaders who fought for black liberation and civil rights in America, such as Ralph Bunche and William Du Bois were also honoured.
      The future of street naming

      Nairobi’s street names are like a small history lesson. The County Government should consider putting up signs that tell people their former names, to show how the city has evolved over time.

      More must also be done to ensure these spaces celebrate future heroes. There is a need to enforce the Kenya Information and Communications (Numbering) Regulations 2010 and the establishment of a National Addressing System as proposed by the Communications Authority of Kenya in 2016. In addition, a national body for dealing with place names, similar to the South African Geographical Names Council, should be instituted.

      Finally, public participation should be an integral part of the street naming process, because people are the primary producers and users of names.



      Sénégal : « Les populations n’utilisent pas les noms coloniaux des rues »

      Au Sénégal, sur l’île Gorée, au large de Dakar, la « place de l’Europe » devient désormais « la place de la Liberté et de la Dignité Humaine ». Une décision prise par le conseil municipal de ce site symbolique de la mémoire de l’esclavage et de la traite des Noirs. De son côté, le maire de la commune du Plateau, dans le centre-ville de Dakar, a proposé récemment de lancer une réflexion sur les noms des rues hérités de la colonisation. Michel Ben Arrous est géographe et chercheur. Il a co-écrit l’an dernier avec Liora Bigon une étude de l’IFAN, l’institut fondamental d’Afrique noire, « Les noms de rues à Dakar. Héritages (pré) coloniaux et temps présent ».

      RFI : Est-ce que vous êtes surpris par la relance de ce débat sur les noms de rue à Dakar dans le sillage du décès de George Floyd aux États-Unis ?

      Michel Ben Arrous : Pas vraiment, dans la mesure où c’est un débat qui ressurgit régulièrement dans la presse sénégalaise ou dans les médias sociaux. Ce qui est remarquable par contre, c’est justement le contexte et le télescopage de logiques assez différentes aux États-Unis, au Sénégal, en France ou ailleurs.

      Ce débat n’est pas nouveau, en quoi les noms des rues, cette toponymie coloniale est-elle symboliqu ?

      Les noms eux-mêmes, évidemment il y a un tas de noms coloniaux qui vont glorifier des administrateurs, des généraux, des militaires, tout ce qu’on veut… Mais l’ensemble de ces noms remplit quand même une fonction de prise de possession de Dakar. Ils sont concentrés dans une zone qui s’appelle « Le Plateau » qui reçoit une petite population française colonisatrice. Et on ne trouve ces noms-là qu’au Plateau qui représente à l’heure actuelle 3% de la population. La Médina qui a été créée dans le sillage de l’épidémie de peste de 1914 reçoit des numéros. Donc, les noms vont distinguer la ville coloniale de cette Médina qui, elle, est forcément mise à part dans la ville puisqu’elle n’est pas nommée. Et si l’on sort ensuite du Plateau, de la Médina et qu’on va vers la ville actuelle, la plupart des rues ne sont pas nommées du tout. L’objectif visé, c’est évidemment de faire œuvre idéologique : on va glorifier la France, on va glorifier ses serviteurs. Mais rien n’indique que cette visée idéologique fonctionne. Avant les colonisateurs , il y avait des villages qui ont été détruits, des villages lébous qui ont conservé leurs noms. Et les noms eux-mêmes se sont répartis dans la ville. Et on va retrouver ces noms-là , Soumbédioune, Kaye, Thann… à d’autres endroits de la ville. Ce sont ces noms-là que les populations continuent à utiliser. Ils n’utilisent pas les noms de rue coloniaux.

      À Dakar, certaines rues ont déjà changé de nom depuis l’indépendance. Comment est-ce que cela a évolué ? Quelles ont été les politiques des autorités successive ?

      Les premiers changements de nom ont eu lieu sous Senghor [Léopold Sédar Senghor, président de la République du Sénégal de 1960 à 1980]. La place Protet a été rebaptisée « place de l’Indépendance ». Gambetta a été rebaptisé « Lamine Gueye ». En même temps, il n’y a pas forcément volonté de rupture puisque [William] Ponty qui est un gouverneur colonial a été remplacé par [George] Pompidou, par ce même Senghor. Les premières renominations fortes ont été faites sous Abdou Diouf [président de 1981 à 2000] et se sont poursuivies sous [Abdoulaye] Wade [2000-2012] et à l’heure actuelle. Mais la chose la plus remarquable, ce n’est pas tellement le nom des rues qui changent, c’est qui a le pouvoir de nommer, qui a le pouvoir de changer ? Sous Senghor, tout se passer par décret présidentiel. Avec Diouf et avec Wade, on a une décentralisation qui commence et ce pouvoir de nommer ou de renommer est désormais dévolu aux communes. Et à l’heure actuelle, ce qu’on voit, c’est une revendication, je ne sais pas si on peut dire populaire parce qu’il faudrait voir dans quelles mesures elle est véritablement populaire, mais une revendication par le bas de pouvoir aussi intervenir dans cette question du nom des rues.

      Il y a une figure qui cristallise particulièrement, c’est celle de Faidherbe, ancien gouverneur de Saint-Louis. Il y a sa statue, un pont à son nom. Que pensez-vous de ces appels à déboulonner cette statue ?

      Faidherbe est d’abord un point de fixation dans un débat qui est beaucoup plus large. La question de fond, c’est le modèle commémoratif. On parle de Faidherbe, mais on pourrait parler de Jules Ferry. La rue Jules Ferry à Dakar, ce Jules Ferry qui était à la Chambre des députés parlait d’un « devoir de colonisation des races supérieures sur les races inférieure ». Ce nom de ferry est peut-être au moins significatif que celui de Faidherbe. On peut aller beaucoup plus loin. On a gardé les plaques bleues, les lettres blanches sur un fond bleu. C’est aussi une présence coloniale qui reste dans la ville. Ce qui est drôle à Dakar, c’est que l’une des rues qui ne pose absolument pas problème, c’est l’avenue de la République. On la conçoit tous comme la République sénégalaise alors que cette avenue de la République, c’était très clairement au moment de la nomination de la IIIe République française, qui était la République colonialiste par excellence.

      À titre de comparaison, comment cela a évolué dans d’autres pays du continent ?

      En sciences sociales, on a l’habitude de comparer Dakar à Nairobi, la capitale du Kenya étant le modèle absolu de décolonisation des noms de rue. Ce qu’on remarque, si on rentre dans le détail, c’est qu’effectivement tous les noms qui célébraient la colonisation britannique ont disparu, mais ils ont été remplacés à l’époque de [Jomo] Kenyatta [1894–1978] par des noms qui célébraient son propre parti politique, ses propres amis politiques et qui négligeaient totalement d’autres courants de la société kenyane. Dans un contexte différent, en Algérie, la plupart des noms de rue ont été remplacés dans un arabe très pur qui permettait aussi de passer sous silence la composante berbère de la population. Et ce que l’on remarque à l’heure actuelle, c’est que les jeunes générations sont celles qui utilisent le moins les noms officiels. Donc, il ne suffit pas de changer les noms si on reprend la même logique pour régler les problèmes. A côté de ça, au Maroc, on va trouver des plaques qui donnent des anciens noms et des plaques, juste en dessous ou au-dessus, qui donnent les nouveaux noms et qui coexistent sans que pratiquement personne ne les utilise d’ailleurs. À Dakar, quand je vais chez moi, je ne vais pas donner le numéro de la rue que personne ne connait. Je ne le sais même pas, c’est « AAB » quelque chose. Si je dis à un chauffeur de taxi de m’emmener là-bas il ne comprendra pas. Si je lui dis : amenez-moi à Amitié 2, c’est un nom de quartier. Et ça, c’est un point de repère qui est utilisé. Mais ces noms de rue curieusement polarisent un débat, fort, alors qu’ils sont relativement peu utilisés. Il y a ceux qui veulent déboulonner, il y a ceux qui veulent remplacer, il y a ceux qui veulent expliquer. Mais tout cela revient au fond à se poser la questio : à quoi veut-on que servent les noms de rue ? À quoi veut-on que servent les statues ?


      #Dakar #Sénégal #Nairobi #noms_de_rue #toponymie #commémorations #post-colonial #décolonial

      ping @cede

  • When Memory is Confined : Politics of Commemoration on #Avenida_26, Bogotá

    After more than five decades of conflict, the Colombian capital, Bogotá, is undergoing processes not just of regeneration, but also of commemoration. The decision to create spaces of memory along one particular road in the city, Avenida 26, has highlighted the stark differences between neighborhoods on either side of its congested lanes—and runs the risk of reinforcing existing segregation.

    Bogotá, Colombia, is a socially divided city in a post-conflict country marked by clashing spatial and cultural cleavages. Over the last 20 years, institutional investments have concentrated on the renewal of the city center in order to boost Bogotá’s image. At the same time, the end of the Colombian conflict has led to the proliferation of a politics of memory in the city. The politics of memory, driven by the pedagogical imperative of “never again” (Bilbija and Payne 2011), expose the difficult task of imagining spaces as contemplative and as sites of reconciliation through their portrayal of past events in the conflict (Jelin 2002).

    The street known as Avenida 26 (Figure 1)—at the center of my four-months-long fieldwork—is a key space for analysis of the city’s regeneration programs and politics of memory. The case of Avenida 26 demonstrates the tensions between urban development and memory-making. It reveals how institution-led production of “spaces of memory” (Huyssen 2003), as cultural spaces dedicated to commemoration and remembrance, also play a crucial role in the process of gentrification and the exclusionary dynamics in the city. Sites of national memory on Avenida 26 reflect strategic plans to build a protective barrier from urban violence and conflicts for the city’s middle class while at the same time further marginalizing low-income residents. These are the same residents who are often most directly touched by the conflict and for whom the politics of memory are officially dedicated.

    Segregated memory, between two Avenidas

    “That [a museum] is like for kids who are studying […], it’s not for everyone, for example, for me […] why should I go to a museum, what for? All these museums, what for? […] For me, my museums are my flowers,” said Catalina, a flower seller, in a half-sarcastic, half-bitter tone. [1]

    Catalina is referring to the future National Museum of Memory of Colombia, which is slated to open in 2021 as a space for reflection over the Colombian conflict. [2] The museum will be built on Avenida 26, where Catalina’s flower stand is located. As she speaks, her voice almost fades into the roar of traffic. The street is one of Bogotá’s main thoroughfares. It is nearly 14 kilometers (8.7 miles) long and as wide as a highway. It is one of the most congested streets in the city (Figure 2).

    Avenida 26 is central to Bogotá’s politics of memory. In 2012, the Center for Memory, Peace and Reconciliation, or CMPyR (Centro de Memoria, Paz y Reconciliación; Figure 3), opened next to the city’s central cemetery, where florists and candle sellers have their stands. Public art on the street [3] portrays the Colombian conflict. In 2014, the municipality renamed the section of Avenida 26 that hosts these cultural initiatives Eje de la Paz y la Memoria, or “Axis of Peace and Memory.” In 2016, a new park, Parque del Renacimiento (“Park of the Rebirth”), was opened.

    As a highly congested major thoroughfare, Avenida 26 does not correspond to conventional spaces of memory. Many institutional representatives define it as an empty space or a “blank slate.”

    “It’s like a corridor: when you cross it in some way you are inhabiting a place that is not a place where one would stop to contemplate […] that is to say it is a non-place,” a member of IDARTES (a body which promotes public art initiatives on the streets of Bogotá) said.

    The imaginary of Avenida 26 as a non-place among public officials reveals their uncomfortable awareness that Avenida 26 is an extremely segregated—and at times violent—place. The renamed section of the avenue—the “Eje de la Paz y la Memoria”—divides two very distinct neighborhoods: the middle-income neighborhood of Teusaquillo on one side, and the deprived and extremely precarious neighborhood of Santa Fe on the other. It would seem that the urban violence that characterizes the avenue would make it unsuitable for commemorative practices, yet officials have focused significant public resources in creating cultural institutions of public memory along this route.

    “The side that is in Teusaquillo is cool, I have friends working with screen printing, who have a cultural center, there is the graffiti […]. In front of the cemetery [on the Santa Fe side], it’s very ugly, people steal and at night there are many homeless people […], I really prefer not to be there,” said Santiago, a skater and graffiti artist, capturing the geographical imagination of the street as a divided space.

    In this context, the siting of the CMPyR and the future Museum of Memory, as well as ancillary museum initiatives, on Avenida 26 is not unintentional or strictly about memory. They represent selective investments on one side of the street in the middle-class neighborhood of Teusaquillo, and not on the Santa Fe side. The siting of these projects on Avenida 26 is not due to the relevance of this place for commemorative purposes, but instead acts as a revitalization strategy that encloses the more economically viable neighborhood through cultural projects as a means of shielding this neighborhood from the poverty and urban violence on the other side of Avenida 26. A member of the current CMPyR administration mentioned this selective use of the street when sharing his unease over being located to what he perceives as the “wrong” side of the street: “We work looking at that side [pointing to the Teusaquillo side], or we go to the mayor’s office, but we don’t go over there [the Santa Fe side]. […] One is always between two parallel worlds. Let’s say that, among ourselves, we know that on the other [Santa Fe] side there is the jungle.”

    In this scenario, Avenida 26 acts as a true frontier between two neighborhoods that memory professionals deem to be incompatible. Indeed, cultural actors and memory professionals seem to identify two different Avenidas: one apt to welcome initiatives and spaces of memory; the other inaccessible due to urban violence.
    Enclosed spaces, incompatible languages

    The consequences of this enclosure are detrimental to the low-income communities on the Santa Fe side of the street. Gates and security guards around the CMPyR contribute to a significant securitization of this area. Candle and flower sellers on the Santa Fe side, who work informally, face increased policing, disrupting their business and limiting their ability to develop a regular clientele.

    The marginalization and exclusion of these residents is even more evident symbolically. Interviewees on the Santa Fe side of the street are mostly uninformed of the activities of politics of memory—for example, they often confuse the CMPyR with a monument. They are also limited by a linguistic barrier. For example, memory, a common word in public art projects (Figure 4) and part of the title of the CMPyR—is an unfamiliar concept to many of these residents. The vocabulary employed by memory professionals reinforces a social and symbolic barrier among actors sharing the same space. This, in turn, contributes to the general indifference of many people in Santa Fe toward spaces of memory, and often results in explicit opposition to politics of memory on the street.

    A kiosk owner near the Parque del Renacimiento expressed her rejection of the politics of memory through her concerns about the present and her children’s future, “I’m not interested in who is buried there, why he died, why it’s called memory […] I want my children to be well, [I want to know] what time my daughter gets home, because if she is late then what happened to her? […] How can I be interested in this bullshit?”

    Avenida 26 is not a blank slate. It is a “lived space” made of uses and practices that politics of memory dismiss (Lefebvre 1974; de Certeau 1990). These regeneration plans ignore residents’ use of space and relation to memory by relying on cultural tools and a language that excludes them from participation. Avenida 26 highlights the necessity to think of spaces of memory as urban spaces whose function extends beyond their commemorative role (Till 2012). This case demonstrates how the appropriation or rejection of spaces of memory is dependent on urban dynamics—social inequalities, spatial segregation, and access to resources—influencing both the appropriation of spaces of memory and the possibility that a sense of belonging among local actors may flourish (Palermo and Ponzini 2014).

    Finally, the role played by the imperative of “never again” in gentrification and displacement is far from being an exclusively Colombian phenomenon. Across the globe, cities are increasingly taking a stance over episodes of the past at a national scale and publicly displaying it for collective engagement (as in post-apartheid Johannesburg, or in post-9/11 New York, among others). Academic and policymaking literature needs to deepen our understanding of the intricacy of these dynamics and the problematic cultural undertakings in such processes. If remembering is indeed a right as well as a duty, “walking down memory lane” should represent an exercise of citizenship and not the rationalization of social and spatial segregation.


    #mémoire #Bogotá #Colombie #commémoration #mémoriel #divided_city #villes #géographie_urbaine #ségrégation #post-conflict #réconciliation #never_again #plus_jamais_ça #violence_urbaine #National_Museum_of_Memory_of_Colombia (CMPyR) #musée #contested_city #guerre_civile #non-lieu #Teusaquillo #Santa_Fe #violence_urbaine #art #frontières_urbaines #fractures_urbaines #gentrification #citoyenneté


    Toponymie :

    In 2014, the municipality renamed the section of Avenida 26 that hosts these cultural initiatives #Eje_de_la_Paz_y_la_Memoria, or “Axis of Peace and Memory.” In 2016, a new park, #Parque_del_Renacimiento (“Park of the Rebirth”), was opened.


    ping @cede @karine4

    ping @albertocampiphoto @reka

  • #Grenoble : plusieurs dizaines de personnes manifestent #contre_les_frontières (VIDÉO)

    À l’appel de plusieurs associations une manifestation se déroule actuellement à Grenoble contre « les frontières, les États impérialistes, et leur politique raciste ». Une manifestation qui se déroule dans le cadre de la journée de commémoration (6 février) des #morts_aux_frontières. Le #6_février_2014, une quinzaine de personnes avaient été tuées alors qu’elles tentaient d’entrer en Europe par la mer à Sebta, colonie espagnole au Maroc. Ce jour-là, indique le communiqué des organisateurs de la manifestation, « 15 personnes étaient mortes noyées, refoulées par la Guardia Civil. »

    #résistance #frontières #manifestation #ouverture_des_frontières #morts_aux_frontières #commémoration #asile #migrations #réfugiés
    #6_février_2020 #mémoire #Ceuta #morts #décès #mémoire

    Commentaire de @karine4 :

    la vidéo est pas super et on était plus de 300 mais bon, ils en ont parlé...

  • La #commémoration du génocide des #Arméniens à #Valence

    Enjeux d’une #revendication_politique portée par une symbolique religieuse chrétienne, pour la transmission d’une #mémoire_identitaire.

    Face à l’atomisation qui minait sa propre cohérence et menaçait sa pérennité avec les perspectives de dissolution des appartenances religieuses traditionnelles induites par la modernité française, la religion identitaire arménienne s’est réinventée à travers la #reconnaissance et la commémoration du #génocide, sorte de nouveau #paradigme_ethno-religieux_arménien.

    Pour télécharger l’article :

    #mémoire #identité

  • Fresque à l’Assemblée nationale à Paris...

    Cette #fresque trône dans mon lieu de travail, l’@AssembleeNat. C’est censé est un truc commémoratif. Imagine-t-on des Juifs représentés ac l’imagerie antisémite pour une commémoration ? Ces traits sont des caricatures issus d’une longue tradition européenne. C’est + qu’une honte

    #racisme #néo-colonialisme #art_de_rue #street_art #commémoration #mémoire #caricature #Africains #Noirs #esclavage #préjugés #mémoire

    ping @reka

  • Une diplomatie des excuses ? Le #Saint-Siège et le #Rwanda

    Le 25 mars 1998, le président Bill Clinton se rendait à l’aéroport de Kigali et, sans en sortir, présentait ses excuses pour l’inaction des États-Unis au cours du génocide. Deux années plus tard, le Premier ministre Guy Verhofstadt présentait à son tour les excuses officielles de la Belgique lors de la commémoration officielle du génocide au site de Gisozi. Il réitérait ses propos en 2004 à l’occasion de la dixième #commémoration du #génocide au stade Amahoro. D’autres pays, en premier lieu la France, ont toujours refusé de participer à cette « diplomatie des #excuses 1 » (à ce sujet, voir Rosoux ; Gibney & Howard-Hassmann).

    Depuis 1994, des associations de rescapés ainsi que les autorités rwandaises réclamaient des excuses officielles de l’#Église_catholique rwandaise et du #Vatican pour leurs rôles dans le #génocide des #Tutsi. Vingt-trois années après ces premières demandes, et après bien des controverses, le pape François a officiellement imploré en mars 2017 « le pardon de Dieu » pour les échecs de l’Église au Rwanda.

    Afin de comprendre ce geste politique, il est nécessaire de revenir sur les débats relatifs à la responsabilité de l’Église catholique au Rwanda avant et pendant le génocide ainsi que sur les étapes ayant conduit aux excuses officielles.

    #mémoire #Eglise

  • Elle est pas belle cette fresque qui illustre un article sur l’abolition de l’esclavage sur le site de l’assemblée nationale ???

    1794 : la première abolition

    Fresque d’Hervé Di Rosa installée, au Palais Bourbon, dans la galerie d’accès aux tribunes du public

    Quelle honte merde ! #racisme_d'état

  • La #sama

    En 1989, les marolliens, de la rue de la #samaritaine, firent #grève. La grève des #matelas. Parce que les pompiers avaient décidé que leur logement était insalubre, dangereux, parce que la commune de Bruxelles avait envoyé sa police afin de distribuer les avis d’expulsion à qui de droit, parce qu’aucune alternative de relogement ne leur était proposée, pour ces raisons, les personnes concernées, et des sympathisants, manifestèrent en dormant sur desq matelas dans la rue. Lieu où les entités communales, fédérales, les envoyaient vivre, n’ayant plus de logement. De cette manifestation naquit un mouvement pour le droit à un logement digne pour tout citoyen. Malheureusement, ce combat est toujours d’actualité.

    De ce mouvement naquit aussi le Comité de la Samaritaine. Lieu où je vous emmène (...)

    #cuisine #alimentaire #colis #commémoration #grève,cuisine,alimentaire,samaritaine,sama,colis,commémoration,matelas

  • Who writes history? The fight to commemorate a massacre by the Texas #rangers

    In 1918, a state-sanctioned vigilante force killed 15 unarmed Mexicans in #Porvenir. When their descendants applied for a historical marker a century later, they learned that not everyone wants to remember one of Texas’ darkest days.

    The name of the town was Porvenir, or “future.” In the early morning hours of January 28, 1918, 15 unarmed Mexicans and Mexican Americans were awakened by a state-sanctioned vigilante force of Texas Rangers, U.S. Army cavalry and local ranchers. The men and boys ranged in age from 16 to 72. They were taken from their homes, led to a bluff over the Rio Grande and shot from 3 feet away by a firing squad. The remaining residents of the isolated farm and ranch community fled across the river to Mexico, where they buried the dead in a mass grave. Days later, the cavalry returned to burn the abandoned village to the ground.

    These, historians broadly agree, are the facts of what happened at Porvenir. But 100 years later, the meaning of those facts remains fiercely contested. In 2015, as the centennial of the massacre approached, a group of historians and Porvenir descendants applied for and was granted a Texas Historical Commission (THC) marker. After a three-year review process, the THC approved the final text in July. A rush order was sent to the foundry so that the marker would be ready in time for a Labor Day weekend dedication ceremony planned by descendants. Then, on August 3, Presidio County Historical Commission Chair Mona Blocker Garcia sent an email to the THC that upended everything. Though THC records show that the Presidio commission had been consulted throughout the marker approval process, Garcia claimed to be “shocked” that the text was approved. She further asserted, without basis, that “the militant Hispanics have turned this marker request into a political rally and want reparations from the federal government for a 100-year-old-plus tragic event.”

    Four days later, Presidio County Attorney Rod Ponton sent a follow-up letter. Without identifying specific errors in the marker text, he demanded that the dedication ceremony be canceled and the marker’s production halted until new language could be agreed upon. Ponton speculated, falsely, that the event was planned as a “major political rally” for Beto O’Rourke with the participation of La Raza Unida founding member José Ángel Gutiérrez, neither of whom was involved. Nonetheless, THC History Programs Director Charles Sadnick sent an email to agency staff the same day: “After getting some more context about where the marker sponsor may be coming from, we’re halting production on the marker.”

    The American Historical Association quickly condemned the THC’s decision, as did the office of state Senator José Rodríguez, a Democrat whose district includes both Presidio County and El Paso, where the ceremony was to be held. Historians across the country also spoke out against the decision. Sarah Zenaida Gould, director of the Museo del Westside in San Antonio and cofounder of Latinos in Heritage Conservation, responded in an email to the agency that encapsulates the views of many of the historians I interviewed: “Halting the marker process to address this statement as though it were a valid concern instead of a dog whistle is insulting to all people of color who have personally or through family history experienced state violence.”

    How did a last-gasp effort, characterized by factual errors and inflammatory language, manage to convince the state agency for historic preservation to reverse course on a marker three years in the making and sponsored by a young Latina historian with an Ivy League pedigree and Texas-Mexico border roots? An Observer investigation, involving dozens of interviews and hundreds of emails obtained through an open records request, reveals a county still struggling to move on from a racist and violent past, far-right amateur historians sowing disinformation and a state agency that acted against its own best judgment.

    The Porvenir massacre controversy is about more than just the fate of a single marker destined for a lonely part of West Texas. It’s about who gets to tell history, and the continuing relevance of the border’s contested, violent and racist past to events today.

    Several rooms in Benita Albarado’s home in Uvalde are almost overwhelmed by filing cabinets and stacks of clipboards, the ever-growing archive of her research into what happened at Porvenir. For most of her life, Benita, 74, knew nothing about the massacre. What she did know was that her father, Juan Flores, had terrible nightmares, and that in 1950 he checked himself in to a state mental hospital for symptoms that today would be recognized as PTSD. When she asked her mother what was wrong with him, she always received the same vague response: “You don’t understand what he’s been through.”

    In 1998, Benita and her husband, Buddy, began tracing their family trees. Benita was perplexed that she couldn’t find any documentation about her grandfather, Longino Flores. Then she came across the archival papers of Harry Warren, a schoolteacher, lawyer and son-in-law of Tiburcio Jáquez, one of the men who was murdered. Warren had made a list of the victims, and Longino’s name was among them. Warren also described how one of his students from Porvenir had come to his house the next morning to tell him what happened, and then traveled with him to the massacre site to identify the bodies, many of which were so mutilated as to be virtually unrecognizable. Benita immediately saw the possible connection. Her father, 12 at the time, matched Warren’s description of the student.

    Benita and Buddy drove from Uvalde to Odessa, where her father lived, with her photocopied papers. “Is that you?” she asked. He said yes. Then, for the first time in 80 years, he began to tell the story of how he was kidnapped with the men, but then sent home because of his age; he was told that the others were only going to be questioned. To Benita and Buddy’s amazement, he remembered the names of 12 of the men who had been murdered. They were the same as those in Harry Warren’s papers. He also remembered the names of the ranchers who had shown up at his door. Some of those, including the ancestors of prominent families still in Presidio County, had never been found in any document.

    Talking about the massacre proved healing for Flores. His nightmares stopped. In 2000, at age 96, he decided that he wanted to return to Porvenir. Buddy drove them down an old mine road in a four-wheel-drive truck. Flores pointed out where his old neighbors used to live, even though the buildings were gone. He guided Buddy to the bluff where the men were killed — a different location than the one commonly believed by local ranchers to be the massacre site. His memory proved to be uncanny: At the bluff, the family discovered a pre-1918 military bullet casing, still lying on the Chihuahuan desert ground.

    Benita and Buddy began advocating for a historical marker in 2000, soon after their trip to Porvenir. “A lot of people say that this was a lie,” Buddy told me. “But if you’ve got a historical marker, the state has to acknowledge what happened.” Their efforts were met by resistance from powerful ranching families, who held sway over the local historical commission. The Albarados had already given up when they met Monica Muñoz Martinez, a Yale graduate student from Uvalde, who interviewed them for her dissertation. In 2013, Martinez, by then an assistant professor at Brown University, co-founded Refusing to Forget, a group of historians aiming to create broader public awareness of border violence, including Porvenir and other extrajudicial killings of Mexicans by Texas Rangers during the same period. The most horrific of these was La Matanza, in which dozens of Mexicans and Mexican Americans were murdered in the Rio Grande Valley in 1915.

    In 2006, the THC created the Undertold Markers program, which seemed tailor-made for Porvenir. According to its website, the program is designed to “address historical gaps, promote diversity of topics, and proactively document significant underrepresented subjects or untold stories.” Unlike the agency’s other marker programs, anyone can apply for an undertold marker, not just county historical commissions. Martinez’s application for a Porvenir massacre marker was accepted in 2015.

    Though the approval process for the Porvenir marker took longer than usual, by the summer of 2018 everything appeared to be falling into place. On June 1, Presidio County Historical Commission chair Garcia approved the final text. (Garcia told me that she thought she was approving a different text. Her confusion is difficult to understand, since the text was attached to the digital form she submitted approving it.) Martinez began coordinating with the THC and Arlinda Valencia, a descendant of one of the victims, to organize a dedication ceremony in El Paso.
    “They weren’t just simple farmers. I seriously doubt that they were just killed for no reason.”

    In mid-June, Valencia invited other descendants to the event and posted it on Facebook. She began planning a program to include a priest’s benediction, a mariachi performance and brief remarks by Martinez, Senator Rodríguez and a representative from the THC. The event’s climax would be the unveiling of the plaque with the names of the 15 victims.

    Then the backlash began.

    “Why do you call it a massacre?” is the first thing Jim White III said over the phone when I told him I was researching the Porvenir massacre. White is the trustee of the Brite Ranch, the site of a cross-border raid by Mexicans on Christmas Day 1917, about a month before the Porvenir massacre. When I explained that the state-sanctioned extrajudicial execution of 15 men and boys met all the criteria I could think of for a massacre, he shot back, “It sounds like you already have your opinion.”

    For generations, ranching families like the Brites have dominated the social, economic and political life of Presidio County. In a visit to the Marfa & Presidio County Museum, I was told that there were almost no Hispanic surnames in any of the exhibits, though 84 percent of the county is Hispanic. The Brite family name, however, was everywhere.

    White and others in Presidio County subscribe to an alternative history of the Porvenir massacre, centering on the notion that the Porvenir residents were involved in the bloody Christmas Day raid.

    “They weren’t just simple farmers,” White told me, referring to the victims. “I seriously doubt that they were just killed for no reason.” Once he’d heard about the historical marker, he said, he’d talked to everyone he knew about it, including former Texas Land Commissioner Jerry Patterson and Mona Blocker Garcia.

    I visited Garcia at her Marfa home, an 1886 adobe that’s the same age as the venerable Marfa County Courthouse down the street. Garcia, 82, is Anglo, and married to a former oil executive whose ancestry, she explained, is Spanish and French Basque. A Houston native, she retired in the 1990s to Marfa, where she befriended the Brite family and became involved in local history. She told me that she had shared a draft text of the marker with the Brites, and they had agreed that it was factually inaccurate.

    Garcia cited a story a Brite descendant had told her about a young goat herder from Porvenir who purportedly witnessed the Christmas Day raid, told authorities about the perpetrators from his community and then disappeared without a trace into a witness protection program in Oklahoma. When I asked if there was any evidence that the boy actually existed, she acknowledged the story was “folklore.” Still, she said, “the story has lasted 100 years. Why would anybody make something like that up?”

    The actual history is quite clear. In the days after the massacre, the Texas Rangers commander, Captain J.M. Fox, initially reported that Porvenir residents had fired on the Rangers. Later, he claimed that residents had participated in the Christmas Day raid. Subsequent investigations by the Mexican consulate, the U.S. Army and state Representative J.T. Canales concluded that the murdered men were unarmed and innocent, targeted solely because of their ethnicity by a vigilante force organized at the Brite Ranch. As a result, in June 1918, five Rangers were dismissed, Fox was forced to resign and Company B of the Texas Rangers was disbanded.

    But justice remained elusive. In the coming years, Fox re-enlisted as captain of Company A, while three of the dismissed lawmen found new employment. One re-enlisted as a Ranger, a second became a U.S. customs inspector and the third was hired by the Brite Ranch. No one was ever prosecuted. As time passed, the historical records of the massacre, including Harry Warren’s papers, affidavits from widows and other relatives and witness testimony from the various investigations, were largely forgotten. In their place came texts like Walter Prescott Webb’s The Texas Rangers: A Century of Frontier Defense, which played an outsize role in the creation of the heroic myth of the Texas Rangers. Relying entirely on interviews with the murderers themselves, Webb accepted at face value Fox’s discredited version of events. For more than 50 years, Webb’s account was considered the definitive one of the massacre — though, unsurprisingly, he didn’t use that word.

    An Observer review of hundreds of emails shows that the state commission was aware of potential controversy over the marker from the very beginning. In an email from 2015, Executive Director Mark Wolfe gave John Nau, the chair of the THC’s executive committee, a heads-up that while the marker was supported by historical scholarship, “the [Presidio County Historical Commission] opposes the marker.” The emails also demonstrate that the agency viewed the claims of historical inaccuracies in the marker text made by Mona Blocker Garcia and the county commission as minor issues of wording.

    On August 6, the day before the decision to halt the marker, Charles Sadnick, the history programs director, wrote Wolfe to say that the “bigger problem” was the ceremony, where he worried there might be disagreements among Presidio County residents, and which he described as “involving some politics which we don’t want a part of.”

    What were the politics that the commission was worried about, and where were these concerns coming from? Garcia’s last-minute letter may have been a factor, but it wasn’t the only one. For the entire summer, Glenn Justice, a right-wing amateur historian who lives in a rural gated community an hour outside San Angelo, had been the driving force behind a whisper campaign to discredit Martinez and scuttle the dedication ceremony.

    “There are radicals in the ‘brown power’ movement that only want the story told of Rangers and [the] Army and gringos killing innocent Mexicans,” Justice told me when we met in his garage, which doubles as the office for Rimrock Press, a publishing company whose catalog consists entirely of Justice’s own work. He was referring to Refusing to Forget and in particular Martinez, the marker’s sponsor.

    Justice has been researching the Porvenir massacre for more than 30 years, starting when he first visited the Big Bend as a graduate student. He claims to be, and probably is, the first person since schoolteacher Harry Warren to call Porvenir a “massacre” in print, in a master’s thesis published by the University of Texas at El Paso in 1991. Unlike White and Garcia, Justice doesn’t question the innocence of the Porvenir victims. But he believes that additional “context” is necessary to understand the reasons for the massacre, which he views as an aberration, rather than a representatively violent part of a long history of racism. “There have never been any problems between the races to speak of [in Presidio County],” he told me.

    In 2015, Justice teamed up with former Land Commissioner Jerry Patterson and Sul Ross State University archaeologist David Keller on a privately funded excavation at the massacre site. He is working on a new book about the bullets and bullet casings they found — which he believes implicate the U.S. Army cavalry in the shooting — and also partnered with Patterson to produce a documentary. But they’d run out of money, and the film was taken over by noted Austin filmmaker Andrew Shapter, who pitched the project to PBS and Netflix. In the transition, Justice was demoted to the role of one of 12 consulting historians. Meanwhile, Martinez was given a prominent role on camera.

    Justice was disgruntled when he learned that the dedication ceremony would take place in El Paso. He complained to organizer Arlinda Valencia and local historical commission members before contacting Ponton, the county attorney, and Amanda Shields, a descendant of massacre victim Manuel Moralez.

    “I didn’t want to take my father to a mob scene,” Shields told me over the phone, by way of explaining her opposition to the dedication ceremony. She believed the rumor that O’Rourke and Gutiérrez would be involved.

    In August, Shields called Valencia to demand details about the program for the ceremony. At the time, she expressed particular concern about a potential Q&A event with Martinez that would focus on parallels between border politics and violence in 1918 and today.

    “This is not a political issue,” Shields told me. “It’s a historical issue. With everything that was going on, we didn’t want the ugliness of politics involved in it.” By “everything,” she explained, she was referring primarily to the issue of family separation. Benita and Buddy Albarado told me that Shields’ views represent a small minority of descendants.

    Martinez said that the idea of ignoring the connections between past and present went against her reasons for fighting to get a marker in the first place. “I’m a historian,” she said. “It’s hard to commemorate such a period of violence, in the midst of another ongoing humanitarian crisis, when this period of violence shaped the institutions of policing that we have today. And that cannot be relegated to the past.”

    After communicating with Justice and Shields, Ponton phoned THC Commissioner Gilbert “Pete” Peterson, who is a bank investment officer in Alpine. That call set in motion the sequence of events that would ultimately derail the marker. Peterson immediately emailed Wolfe, the state commission’s executive director, to say that the marker was becoming “a major political issue.” Initially, though, Wolfe defended the agency’s handling of the marker. “Frankly,” Wolfe wrote in his reply, “this might just be one where the [Presidio County Historical Commission] isn’t going to be happy, and that’s why these stories have been untold for so long.” Peterson wrote back to say that he had been in touch with members of the THC executive committee, which consists of 15 members appointed by either former Governor Rick Perry or Governor Greg Abbott, and that an email about the controversy had been forwarded to THC chair John Nau. Two days later, Peterson added, “This whole thing is a burning football that will be thrown to the media.”

    At a meeting of the Presidio County Historical Commission on August 17, Peterson suggested that the executive board played a major role in the decision to pause production of the marker. “I stopped the marker after talking to Rod [Ponton],” Peterson said. “I’ve spent quite a bit of time talking with the chairman and vice-chairman [of the THC]. What we have said, fairly emphatically, is that there will not be a dedication in El Paso.” Through a spokesperson, Wolfe said that the executive committee is routinely consulted and the decision was ultimately his.

    The spokesperson said, “The big reason that the marker was delayed was to be certain about its accuracy. We want these markers to stand for generations and to be as accurate as possible.”

    With no marker to unveil, Valencia still organized a small commemoration. Many descendants, including Benita and Buddy Albarado, chose not to attend. Still, the event was described by Jeff Davis, a THC representative in attendance, as “a near perfect event” whose tone was “somber and respectful but hopeful.”

    Most of THC’s executive committee members are not historians. The chair, John Nau, is CEO of the nation’s largest Anheuser-Busch distributor and a major Republican party donor. His involvement in the Porvenir controversy was not limited to temporarily halting the marker. In August, he also instructed THC staff to ask the Presidio historical commission to submit applications for markers commemorating raids by Mexicans on white ranches during the Mexican Revolution, which Nau described as “a significant but largely forgotten incident in the state’s history.”

    Garcia confirmed that she had been approached by THC staff. She added that the THC had suggested two specific topics: the Christmas Day raid and a subsequent raid at the Neville Ranch.

    The idea of additional plaques to provide so-called context that could be interpreted as justifying the massacre — or at the very least setting up a false moral equivalence — appears to have mollified critics like White, Garcia and Justice. The work on a revised Porvenir massacre text proceeded quickly, with few points of contention, once it began in mid-September. The marker was sent to the foundry on September 18.
    “It’s hard to commemorate such a period of violence, in the midst of another ongoing humanitarian crisis, when this period of violence shaped the institutions of policing that we have today.”

    In the end, the Porvenir descendants will get their marker — but it may come at a cost. Martinez called the idea of multiple markers “deeply unsettling” and not appropriate for the Undertold Marker program. “Events like the Brite Ranch raid and the Neville raid have been documented by historians for over a century,” she said. “These are not undertold histories. My concern with having a series of markers is that, again, it casts suspicion on the victims of these historical events. It creates the logic that these raids caused this massacre, that it was retribution for these men and boys participating.”

    In early November, the THC unexpectedly announced a dedication ceremony for Friday, November 30. The date was one of just a few on which Martinez, who was still planning on organizing several public history events in conjunction with the unveiling, had told the agency months prior that she had a schedule conflict. In an email to Martinez, Sadnick said that it was the only date Nau could attend this year, and that it was impossible for agency officials to make “secure travel plans” once the legislative session began in January.

    A handful of descendants, including Shields and the Albarados, still plan to attend. “This is about families having closure,” Shields told me. “Now, this can finally be put to rest.”

    The Albarados are livid that the THC chose a date that, in their view, prioritized the convenience of state and county officials over the attendance of descendants — including their own daughters, who feared they wouldn’t be able to get off work. They also hope to organize a second, unofficial gathering at the marker site next year, with the participation of more descendants and the Refusing to Forget historians. “We want people to know the truth of what really happened [at Porvenir],” Buddy told me, “and to know who it was that got this historical marker put there.”

    Others, like Arlinda Valencia, planned to stay home. “Over 100 years ago, our ancestors were massacred, and the reason they were massacred was because of lies that people were stating as facts,” she told me in El Paso. “They called them ‘bandits,’ when all they were doing was working and trying to make a living. And now, it’s happening again.”

    #mémoire #histoire #Texas #USA #massacre #assassinat #méxicains #violence #migrations #commémoration #historicisation #frontières #violence_aux_frontières #violent_borders #Mexique

  • « Le 11 novembre, la Grande Guerre, la victoire de la France et la défaite des Français » Bruno Adrie - 6 Novembre 2018 - Librairie Tropiques

    On peut comprendre que des esprits patriotes se sentent aujourd’hui blessés par la décision prise par un certain président français de ne pas offusquer l’Allemagne lors des célébrations du 11 novembre. On comprend aisément que cette décision soit une preuve de plus de la soumission des élites françaises aux élites allemandes.

    Mais, il me semble que cantonner le problème à ce niveau n’a pas se sens et ne rend pas compte de ce que fut la « Grande Guerre ».

    Car, indépendamment des marques de soumission de l’élite française et de ses commis-voyageurs politiques aujourd’hui, la victoire française de 1918 n’a jamais été une victoire du peuple français mais sa défaite. Les dynasties bourgeoises qui en 1914 avaient le pouvoir notamment via leur laquais Poincaré ont voulu la guerre et tout fait pour l’obtenir. Cette guerre n’a été que le conflit entre deux bourgeoisies industrielles impérialistes se combattant pour le partage du monde. Le patriotisme n’a rien eu à voir là-dedans. Il n’a été, comme souvent dans la bouche des politiciens de droite que le prétexte à faire passer un bain de sang pour un acte de justice.

    Et on les a vus, les profiteurs de guerre soutenus par l’État, devenir les profiteurs de paix en se faisant attribuer à bas prix les biens allemands mis sous séquestre en Alsace et en Lorraine. On les a vus refuser de payer l’impôt (comme toujours) obligeant l’État a exiger d’improbables réparations jamais acceptées outre Rhin ni outre Atlantique compte tenu des investissement US en Allemagne qui ne devaient pas rapporter à la France. Non, décidément, que la France ait choisi, aujourd’hui comme en 40 (et même avant), de se soumettre à l’Allemagne ne fait pas de doute, mais les trémolos droitistes et militaristes ne prennent pas et ne servent pas la vérité.

    La « Grande Guerre » ne fut « grande » que par l’injuste et trop grand sacrifice de millions d’innocents tournés « en saucisson de bataille » par des profiteurs qui n’ont pas hésité à leur voler la paix après leur avoir volé la peau et les os.

    « Nous avons donné tout sans exiger de reçu » a écrit Georges Bernanos dans Les enfants humiliés. Il est grand temps de relire toute la série des Écrits de combats de ce grand mystique attelé comme une bourrique fiévreuse et têtue au lourd chariot de la Vérité.


    #histoire, #politique #premiere_guerre_mondiale #commemorations #guerre_aux_pauvres #France #profiteurs #défaites #Georges_Bernanos #france #guerre #armée #armée_française

  • Memorializing the GDR: Monuments and Memory after 1989

    Since unification, eastern Germany has witnessed a rapidly changing memorial landscape, as the fate of former socialist monuments has been hotly debated and new commemorative projects have met with fierce controversy. Memorializing the GDR provides the first in-depth study of this contested arena of public memory, investigating the individuals and groups devoted to the creation or destruction of memorials as well as their broader aesthetic, political, and historical contexts. Emphasizing the interrelationship of built environment, memory and identity, it brings to light the conflicting memories of recent German history, as well as the nuances of national and regional constructions of identity.


    #paysage_mémoriel #mémoire #monuments #Allemagne_de_l'Est #livre #réunification #Allemagne #commémoration #création #destruction #identité #identité_nationale #géographie_culturelle #RDA

    signalé par @reka

  • Commisération de 68
    Sur une soirée cocottes comico poulets


    Hier soir, ce fut une première : avec des amis nous sommes allés nous asseoir à la terrasse du nouveau café du théâtre de l’Odéon, laquelle terrasse a littéralement colonisé la place. Il y avait là R., une amie mexicaine qui sortait de la bibliothèque de la Sorbonne tout juste rouverte après occupation. Elle est pleine de nouvelles normes de contrôle, de maréchaussée.

    À l’Odéon se donnait une soirée en commémoration de Mai 68, soirée payante, ou sur invitation. À partir de 19 h 15, les gens bien mis sont entrés en très grand nombre, la tranche des « seniors » étant singulièrement représentée… des vieilles dames en tenue des grands soirs faisaient, en particulier, plaisir à voir. Puis sont arrivés des lycéens, des étudiants, des gens de peu de foi (la soirée s’intitulait « L’esprit de Mai »), au mieux une cinquantaine de personnes si l’on compte les vieux. Pour cette engeance, impossible d’entrer, évidement. (...)

    #Mai68 #Odéon #commémoration #répression #gazage #nasse

  • Commémoration de mai 68
    Que faisant le gouvernement en mai 68 ?
    Il ordonnait à ses flics accompagnes de fascistes volontaires (Dont les camelots d’AF) de tabasser les étudiants.es
    Il condamnait à la prison les femmes qui avortaient
    Il excusait les violeurs et agresseurs sexuels.
    Il réprimait les grèves...

    Comment le gouvernement commémore mai 68 en 2018 ?
    Il ordonne à ses flics accompagnés de fascistes volontaires (dont AF) de tabasser les etudiant.es.
    Il invite les intégristes cathos au comité de bioéthique pour interdire la PMA.
    Il organise la pénurie de centre IVG, planning familliale et coupe les vivres aux organisations féministes qui luttent contre les violences sexuelles au travail.
    Il s’organiser aussi l’appauvrissement des femmes et fait obstacle a l’accès aux aides sociales dont les femmes sont les principales bénéficiaires. Il prépare aussi leur mise à la rue, via la vente des HLM. 
    Il prépare une atténuation des peines et poursuites pour viol et violences sexuelles via une correctionnalisation automatique des viols.
    Il réprime les grèves...

    #commemoration #mai_68 #memoire

  • Dossier 1968, une embellie en mai

    (Toutes les archives sont en accès libre.)

    La France est un pays paralysé, les banques ne fonctionnent plus, les pompes à essence sont vides. Qu’était #Mai_68 ? Une révolte étudiante contre les hiérarchies, une libération festive des mœurs, certes. Mais aussi et d’abord la plus grande grève d’ouvriers et d’employés de l’histoire de France, en écho aux grands mouvements de solidarité avec les peuples du tiers-monde, et avant tout avec le peuple vietnamien. À l’occasion du quarantième anniversaire du mouvement, Laurent Bonelli remarquait que « contrairement aux commémorations de 1988 et 1998, encore dominées par la célébration de leaders étudiants, celle de 2008 laisse une place bien plus importante aux masses d’anonymes qui ont inscrit l’événement dans l’histoire et aux raisons pour lesquelles elles l’ont fait. » Ainsi « la mémoire des millions de grévistes qui paralysèrent le pays retrouve enfin une place dans le débat. » Que reste-t-il à dire, écrire ou montrer aujourd’hui ? Pour le cinquantenaire, hors de toute frénésie éditoriale, Le Monde diplomatique invite à une plongée dans ses archives.

  • #Croatie : Juifs, Serbes et antifascistes boycottent encore la cérémonie officielle au camp de #Jasenovac

    Depuis le retour de la droite au pouvoir, cela devient une tradition. Cette année encore, les associations de victimes boycottent la cérémonie officielle de la libération du camp de concentration croate. Trois commémorations séparées auront lieu à Jasenovac, où au moins 80 000 Serbes, Juifs, Roms, et Partisans sont morts.

    #commémoration #spomenik #boycot #spomeniks

  • Les monuments aux morts entre passé et présent, #mémoire et #histoire. Ils nous interrogent sur la manière dont nous transmettons et maintenons la mémoire collective. Film diffusé en coopération avec CNRS-Images


    #monument_aux_morts, #monument, #mort, #mémoire, #histoire, #Première_Guerre_mondiale, #Grande_guerre, #1914-1918, #commune, #ville, #armistice, #guerre, #souvenir, #France, #commémoration, #patrimoine, #symbole, #film_recherche, #documentaire, #CNRS

  • Liste commémoration 2018
    Avec l’histoire de Maurras je découvre ces listes et je me demande aussi combien de femmes sont présentes dans ces listes.



    Avènement de Théodoric Ier
    Accession de saint Germain au trône épiscopal d’Auxerre


    Baudouin II, comte de Flandre
    Guillaume le Pieux, duc d’Aquitaine


    Bertrade de Montfort - Parmi les reines de France, rares sont celles à avoir laissé une aussi mauvaise réputation que Bertrade de Montfort, maîtresse puis épouse de Philippe Ier. Les chroniqueurs la dépeignent comme ambitieuse, perverse et manipulatrice (...)
    la fiche wikipédia est moins à charge : est successivement, par ses différents mariages, comtesse d’Anjou et reine des Francs. Elle était fille de Simon Ier, seigneur de Montfort, et d’Agnès d’Évreux.


    Fondation des Sables-d’Olonne
    Simon de Montfort


    Rédaction du Livre des métiers d’Étienne Boileau


    Fin de la réforme territoriale de Jean XXII


    Bernard VII d’Armagnac
    Repli à Bourges du Dauphin


    Jean de Dunois, bâtard d’Orléans
    Signature du traité de Péronne


    Destruction de la cathédrale Sainte-Croix d’Orléans


    Barbe Acarie - Animatrice d’un cercle religieux, elle introduit en France l’ordre des Carmes déchaux. Après la mort de son mari, elle entre au Carmel sous le nom de Marie de l’Incarnation. Grande mystique, elle est la première stigmatisée française officiellement reconnue.

    Guillaume Couture
    Roger de Bussy-Rabutin
    Nicolas François Blondel
    François Pierre de La Varenne


    Marquise Thérèse de Gorla, dite Mlle Du Parc - est une comédienne française née en 1633 et morte à Paris le 11 décembre 1668. Elle fit partie de la troupe de Molière de 1653 à 1667, avant de passer à l’Hôtel de Bourgogne, où elle créa le rôle-titre de la tragédie de Jean Racine Andromaque.

    Jean Gilles
    François Couperin
    Henri François d’Aguesseau
    Début de la publication des Fables de La Fontaine
    Création de L’Avare


    Guy Crescent Fagon
    Philippe de La Hire
    Élie Fréron
    Fondation de La Nouvelle-Orléans


    Charles Cressent
    Marie Leczinska - est une aristocrateNote 2 polonaise, fille du roi de Pologne (1704 – 1709) Stanislas Leszczynski, reine de France par son mariage avec Louis XV en 1725. De par son fils le dauphin Louis, qui épousa Marie-Josèphe de Saxe, elle est la grand-mère des trois derniers rois de France 1, Louis XVI, Louis XVIII et Charles X.

    Elle est la dernière reine de France à mourir avec sa couronne. Pieuse et généreuse, elle fut une figure effacée de la cour de Versailles de par l’importance des maîtresses de son mari, en particulier la marquise de Pompadour.

    François Joseph Bosio
    Jean-Baptiste Joseph Fourier
    Charlotte Corday - est une personnalité de la Révolution française, célèbre pour avoir assassiné Jean-Paul Marat le 13 juillet 1793.

    Louis Charles Antoine Desaix
    François René de Chateaubriand
    Arrivée de Bougainville en Polynésie
    Cession à la France de la souveraineté sur la Corse


    Anne Vallayer-Coster - Le 18 février 1818, mourait à Paris, rue Coq-Héron, la première femme artiste à s’être distinguée publiquement en France par son art, plus de dix ans avant ses consoeurs Vigée Le Brun et Labille-Guiard

    François Joseph Bélanger
    Gaspard Monge
    Marius Petipa
    Henri Sainte-Claire Deville
    Charles Gounod
    Charles Marie Leconte de Lisle
    Ivan Tourgueniev
    Élection de Guillaume Guillon-Lethière à l’Académie des beaux-arts
    Promulgation d’une loi interdisant la traite négrière

    Création de la Caisse d’épargne et de prévoyance
    Rétablissement de la statue d’Henri IV sur le Pont-Neuf


    Léon Foucault
    Jacques Boucher de Perthes
    Gaston Leroux
    Paul Claudel
    Théodore Botrel
    Alexandra David-Néel - est une orientaliste, tibétologue, chanteuse d’opéra et féministe, journaliste et anarchiste, écrivaine et exploratrice, franc-maçonne et bouddhiste de nationalités française et belge.

    Édouard Vuillard
    Gustave Auguste Ferrié
    Francis Jammes
    Création de La Lanterne
    Fondation de l’École pratique des hautes études (EPHE)
    Construction de la nouvelle salle de lecture de la Bibliothèque impériale


    Bataille de Reims et offensive alliée des Cent Jours
    Lancement de l’offensive du Printemps
    Paul Vidal de La Blache
    Claude Debussy
    Robert Escarpit
    Émile Reynaud
    Guillaume Apollinaire
    René Rémond
    Edmond Rostand
    Jean Degottex
    Maurice Druon
    Louis Althusser
    André Bazin
    Louise de Bettignies - est une agente secrete française qui espionna, sous le pseudonyme d’Alice Dubois, pour le compte de l’armée britannique durant la Première Guerre mondiale.

    Joost Van Vollenhoven
    Proclamation de l’armistice de 1918
    Nomination de Foch à la tête des armées alliées
    Roland Garros
    Épidémie de grippe espagnole


    Diffusion du premier épisode des Shadoks
    Tsuguharu Foujita
    Sortie de Baisers volés de François Truffaut
    Incendie du château de Hautefort
    Publication de Belle du Seigneur d’Albert Cohen
    Première greffe cardiaque en Europe
    Léopold Survage
    Mai 68
    Élection de Pierre Emmanuel à l’Académie française
    Premier lancement de la fusée Véronique depuis la base de Kourou
    Ouverture des Xes Jeux olympiques d’hiver
    Charles Münch
    Marcel Duchamp
    Kees Van Dongen
    Jean Paulhan
    Jacques Chardonne
    Attribution du prix Nobel de la paix à René Cassin
    Joseph Peyré

    Autres commémorations nationales


    Simon Arnauld de Pomponne


    Traité d’Aix-la-Chapelle
    Publication des Maladies des femmes grosses et accouchées


    Claude Henri Watelet
    Début de la construction de l’hôtel d’Évreux


    Michel Blavet
    Jean Lefebvre de Cheverus
    Jean-Baptiste Bessières


    Découverte de l’eau oxygénée
    Découverte de la strychnine


    Promulgation de la loi portant création des caisses d’assurances décès et accident du travail
    Jane Avril - fut une des danseuses les plus célèbres du Moulin Rouge où elle était surnommée « Jane la Folle » ou « La Mélinite ».

    André Suarès
    Invention de la pile électrique
    Promulgation de la loi portant réforme du droit des incapables majeurs


    Lili Boulanger - est une compositrice française.
    Gérard Souzay
    Création du service de comptes courants et de chèques postaux
    Premier combat de chars motorisés
    Entrée des troupes alliées dans Strasbourg
    Parution de Bécassine mobilisée
    Renée Faure - est une actrice française.


    Inauguration du port de Fos-sur-Mer
    Lucienne Dhotelle, dite la Môme Moineau - est une chanteuse française des années 1920.

    J’ai compté 12 femmes et 1 événement en lien spécifique aux femmes ( Publication des Maladies des femmes grosses et accouchées ) ce qui fait 13 entrées sur 160 et 83 hommes nommés.

    #historicisation #femmes #histoire

  • cvuh : Commémorer, c’est bien plus que célébrer

    Les polémiques autour des enjeux sociaux et politiques des cycles de plus en plus intenses de commémorations et des hommages nationaux et étatiques à telle ou telle personne se multiplient au fil des années au rythme d’une démultiplication de ces modalités particulières de faire récit et de faire vivre des mémoires. Nous étions un certain nombre à nous réjouir, au CVUH comme ailleurs, de la suppression du nom de Charles Maurras de la liste des commémorations nationales pour l’année 2018, à la suite du débat et de l’émotion légitimes provoqués par la prise de conscience de la présence du fondateur de l’Action française dans cette liste. Nous avons été étonnés de lire dans le numéro du Monde daté de mardi 30 janvier une justification de la présence sur cette liste de Charles Maurras, nationaliste fanatique et anti-républicain militant, de la part de deux des historiens membres du Haut Comité aux Commémorations nationales, Jean-Noël Jeanneney et Pascal Ory, et encore plus étonnés de découvrir l’argumentation visant à la légitimer.

    #commémoration #mémoire #Charles_Maurras