In Waiting for the Barbarians, the line that divides the so called ‘civilized’ from the ‘barbarians’ is shown as deeply ambivalent. Illustrate this with examples and discuss the larger implications of this portrayal. J. M. Coetzee unravels the complexities behind the concepts of ‘civilised’ versus ‘barbaric’ in his book Waiting for the Barbarians. These concepts are reflective of the larger ideas of “Self” and “Other”, and are shown to be problematic in its definition. In the novel, the ever present fear of the barbarians proves to have been misdirected, misunderstood and misinterpreted as a whole.
This essay looks at the physical versus mental disparity in defining the “civilised” and the “barbarians”, how these concepts are but relative terms, and how it may co-exist in a single entity. By classifying the Other as being barbaric, and the Self as civilised, the individual is able to find self-definition and a more concrete sense of self-worth. In this case, the Empire takes this to the extreme, and identifies the barbarians as the ultimate threat and evil, and thus distinguishes itself as being heroes and protectors of goodness.
They further underscore the dichotomy between the “civilised and the “barbarians” through ways such as writing “ENEMY” on the backs of the captured barbarians, and encourage the townspeople to physically abuse them (106). Yet despite these efforts, the “enemy” or the “barbarian” is not universally agreed upon, as reflected through the Magistrate who states that “We are at peace here…we have no enemies…Unless I make a mistake…Unless we are the enemy” (77).
Similarly, this ambiguity is reflected through our understanding of the Empire. Initially, the Empire (with Colonel Joll as its representative) is seen as “important”, and worthy of the “best” (2). As the story progresses however, the Magistrate provides us with an epiphanic realization that the Empire is, in reality, the mythical ‘evil barbarians’ that come in stealth and destroy their society and land (99). He repeatedly verbalizes the fact that “you are the enemy Colonel! .. You are the enemy, you have made the war…” (114) Our inability to immediately ascertain who the “civilised” and “barbarians” are arises because being “civilised” can be interpreted in two ways– firstly, as one living in an established settlement. Secondly, in behaving in a manner that respects humanity. While many assume that those who possess the former characteristic would also possess the latter, we see that this is not true.
For instance, though the people in the Empire have elaborate systems of governance and wear new inventions like sunglasses, they torture innocent captives in secrecy and tell lies to cover up their misdeeds. They are perpetually hiding from the light, doing things in darkness, affirming the myth that “the barbarians come out at night” (122). They show no respect for the prevailing laws, once again blurring the lines between “civilised” and “barbarians” because “the criminals and the civil guard are the same people” (123).
Their disregard for justice and lack of respect for humanity reveals their true barbarism within. Contrastingly, while the barbarians are nomadic, live off the earth and use primitive methods of weaponry etc, they help their ‘captives’ in the desert, “while they are following us they are also leading us”, and are just even in their manipulation of the enemy, “taking the silver for the horse he did not take”, but letting the Magistrate go on his way peacefully.
They know about the intricate interdependency between man and the earth (51), whereas the Empire “does not care that once the ground is cleared [by the fire they set] the wind begins to eat at the soil and the desert advances” (82) This later causes the fisherfolk to be forced to impose on the Fort and its resources, creating a parasitic community which the Magistrate was previously careful to prevent. Thus the irony is that the very people who claim to be civilised are really the barbaric ones, whereas the “evil” barbarians prove to be more humane in their assertion of power, and have more respect for the earth.
The ambivalence between the two concepts is further exacerbated as an absolute definition does not exist. In comparing the Fort to the barbarians in the desert, the magistrate describes it as “civilization”, but “we pause, savouring from our different positions the ironies of the word” (12). There is neither an absolute ‘barbarism’ nor an absolute ‘civilization’, but what determines these concepts is mere comparison. This mirroring of traits in each society further enhances the ambiguity of the concepts.
The people living at the Fort have things like cotton, silk and silver, whereas the barbarians do not. But the people from the Empire have chariots, and dress in different clothing than those at the Fort. What then, makes the Fort, or even the Empire, “civilised”? Another civilization which is more technologically and socially advanced may exist elsewhere, thereby making the Empire barbaric in comparison to them. This variance in perspective is most vividly illustrated in the mildly humourous scene (112) whereby the Magistrate “reads” the hieroglyphic poplar slips.
He says: “It is the barbarian character for war, but it has other senses too…It can stand for vengeance, and if you turn it upside down like this, it can be made to read justice… There is no knowing what sense is intended”. Differing points of view would lead to widely varying stances towards the issue at hand. The larger implication is then, that we must not evaluate standards according to our own outlook, or assume that our way of life is the best and ideal. Even more, we should not seek to impose this on all other societies, or condemn them for their differences.
For instance, the Fort had a very peaceful system, as the Magistrate would “usually sentence petty offenders to a few days of digging at the dunes” (14), and saw that “this so-called banditry [the perceived threat from the barbarians] does not amount to much” (4). The point is to consider that other societies have practices that work for them well, and may even be better than ours. Lastly, the two concepts are not clearly distinguishable because they are not mutually exclusive, but can manifest simultaneously in a given entity.
We are inclined to sympathize with the Magistrate as his first person narration carries across his struggles and dilemmas more personally. But, even as the protagonist, he is a man of doubtful morals, and recognises that he is “a jackal of the Empire in sheep’s clothing” (72). He keeps the barbarian girl in his house, and attempts to assuage the pain that his superiors have inflicted on her and her tribe. Yet, he shudders at the realisation that “the distance between [him]self and her torturers…is negligible”(27), because he too is holding her captive and using her for his own agendas.
He perpetually caresses her and sleeps with her, but then contemptuously decides that “she is ugly, ugly” (47). When he is later kept in the cell, he “daily becomes more like a beast” (84), and while the onlookers disparage him, they associate him with “barbarian language” and “barbarian friends” (121). But despite this outward, physical descent into barbarism, he remains civilised in spirit, as he finds strength to stand up for the captured barbarians, and values the fact that they are “Men”, and have an equal right to life (107).
He cannot comprehend how the Colonel can bring himself to eat after having so much innocent blood on his hands, and feels that “if I were he…my hands would feel so dirty that it would choke me” (126). The Magistrate is used by Coetzee in teaching us not to condemn those who are not entirely “civilised”, for each of these characteristics often co-exist in any one person, giving rise to problems of inner turmoil. Through this character, Coetzee also expresses the paradoxical, but nonetheless intense, struggle between “upholding the laws…without letting the memory of justice to fade” (139).
At the end of the day, we see how barbarism is contagious and easily corrupts the people. Even though there is no substantial evidence for the barbarian threat, tension amongst the people runs high (122). Furthermore, children, the epitome of innocence, are led down the same sordid path to barbarism. A young girl “lifts the cane, and brings it down smartly on the prisoner’s buttocks” (106), and several boys climb the tree where the Magistrate hung, to gawk at his humiliation (119).
Thus, it is seen that self definition through negation causes insecurity, and coupled with power, gives rise to immense oppression and atrocities. C. P. Cavafy says it best in his poem by the same title: “and now what will become of us without Barbarians? –/ Those people were some sort of solution”.
Works Cited
J. M. Coetzee. Waiting for the Barbarians Penguin Books Ltd, 1980 C. P. Cavafy. “Waiting for the barbarians”. Collected poems (1904): pp17-18
