Fanon’s Struggle with Group Analysis: Lessons for Us Now

Erica Burman

Summary

In this paper I outline seven key aspects arising from Fanon’s writings that can inform current critical thinking and practice in group analysis. These are: Embodiment, Psychiatry, Institutions, Violence, Culture, Therapy, and Groups. I suggest Fanonian analyses offer key resources for socially engaged and – crucially – socially transformative group analytic practice, resources that topicalise the psychoaffective consequences of racialised and colonial power relations. Understanding the practice of group analysis within its geopolitical contexts has the potential to transform our understanding of psychic and social liberation, from alienation to freedom.

It’s a pleasure and honour to be invited to talk with you all. This GASI summer school is aptly named. We are indeed in the maelstrom – or maybe several ones. Whether we can, or should be, holding the ‘centre’, or in what sense this is possible, is perhaps another matter. For my contribution today draws on decolonial and postcolonial perspectives, specifically the work of the revolutionary theorist and practitioner Frantz Fanon. Such perspectives put into question the assumed perspective and associated power dynamics that underlie notions of centre (and, correspondingly, periphery). I will return, from time to time, to the themes set up by Edgar Allen Poe’s tale as also taken up by Norbert Elias, and reinterpreted for us by Nick [Serra] yesterday, to offer some additional reflections.

But first I must present some framing of, and for, my comments.

Clearly, speaking about Fanon as a white woman from the Global North poses important questions to be addressed from the outset. Let me name the double bind at play. (In Involvement and Detachment, Elias has some interesting comments about the fruitfulness of double binds that are worth bearing in mind.) I acknowledge that I could be seen to be appropriating Fanon’s inspiring and passionate words, and indeed his political engagements, thereby enacting some form of virtue signalling or white saviourism. Yet, still – precisely as a white privileged person – I have a responsibility to challenge racism and colonialism, and the racist, colonial legacies and actualities maintained in my name.

These legacies and current violences – for so they are – are (as we are painfully aware) materially present now, in geopolitics, in everyday life, all around us. And they are also present within psychoanalysis and group analysis. Indeed, here is one key lesson emerging from recent scholarship, which is now attending to Fanon’s clinical writings as much as his political writings. Even though initially he became famous through the political writings, no absolute conceptual or political division can be made between these (Khalfa & Young, 2018; Shatz 2023). Fanon’s psychoanalytic clinical practice and his political writings share the same thinking, the same politics. Even biographically speaking, he maintained his engagement in teaching and innovating clinical practice alongside his political activism, even when he was in exile from Algeria as a representative of the FLN in Tunisia.

I don’t have a lot of time so I am not going to say a lot more by way of introduction. I hope this sets the scene, and my positioning and perspective on this, enough for now. We can of course return to this later.

I am going to discuss seven areas highlighted by Fanon’s psychopolitical, psychoaffective practice that I think speak urgently to our own work. These are: Embodiment, Psychiatry, Institutions, Violence, Culture, Therapy, and Groups.

I hope you will see why these are all important themes, and I will offer some indications on how they connect, and how they speak to the concerns of this summer school.

1. Embodiment

Fanon’s first book, Black Skin, White Masks, is best known for its evocation of the phenomenological experience of racialised, colonial oppression. He was very engaged with Merleau Ponty’s ideas (and attended his lectures), as well as those of Sartre and De Beauvoir (Laubscher et al., 2022; Burman 2024). It is precisely because of the specificity and situatedness of his accounts of such experiences, grounded in social-material contexts and conditions, that Fanon is increasingly being hailed as a core contributor to the philosophical canon of phenomenology, so challenging the abstracted and disembodied dualist model of the mind-body relation in Western culture and philosophy (Macherey, 2012).

Fanon writes of the lived experience of the impacts of colonial histories and racialised encounters, in particular focusing on these as bodily experiences. That is, he describes how they are felt physiologically and kinaesthetically – for example, within the muscles as chronic tension and stress, or as literal stuckness or paralysis (petrification), or apparently fruitless twitching (ankylosis). Fanon writes of states of depletion produced by being consigned to these ‘zones of non-being’ (his terms) as (what he calls) zombification. What he is attending to here is threefold: firstly, the physical and psychic impacts of the enforced inability to act; second, how the responses to powerlessness are manifested physically and psychically; which extends to, third, the physical and psychic impacts of internalised rage that cannot be directly expressed. Note here the emphasis on material, physical aspects of psychic experience. At the interpersonal level (in the iconic scene in Black Skin, White Masks with the white mother and her child) he writes of a sense of amputation, of excision from the social. That is, he evokes the radical sense of misrecognition, of dehumanisation, of being reduced to racialised characteristics, epidermalized into a position of racialised inferiority, as visceral (see also Burman 2016a, 2019). As we know, trauma lies at the border of the physiological and the psychological and Fanon helps us to see how this also malevolently transforms the subject’s relationship with their body and their history. Fanon, mobilising his medical expertise, regularly uses the language of toxicity to describe the trauma of enforced racialisation. This trauma is produced by the social, exemplifying Fanon’s model of sociogeny, a social model of the psyche.

The intensity and violence of such experiences exceed the kind of misrecognitions or enigmatic interpellations that some psychoanalysts see as psychologically constitutive of the human subject. Whether apparently benign or complementary (‘Oh, you do speak French well’ was said to Fanon many times), or overtly derogatory and rejecting comments, as in the child’s cry ‘Mama, a black man, I’m frightened!’, such relational – or rather, more accurately non-relational – experiences distort and pervert the specific subject’s position in relation to the social bond, to humanity, with that relation now defined, or rather redefined, via the axis of racialisation. For the black-ened subject, according to Fanon, such experiences install a sense of socially sanctioned inferiority and alienation. This undoubtedly builds on, but also escalates to and intensifies the socio-politically pathological dimensions of those forms of lack (or castration) that some psychoanalytic models see as comprising the human condition. In his evocation of the experience of racialised oppression, which- he makes clear – is based on colonial occupation, extraction, and exploitation – Fanon accuses the entire edifice of Western society and culture.

For the Whit-ened subject, this secures access to privilege, but (as we know from many studies that highlight the provisionality of such access – whether on class, gender, ethnicity, nationality, religious, or regional grounds) – there is always the anxiety that such status is under threat. This is what Fanon acknowledged as relevant in his engagement (in Black Skin, White Masks) with the writings of the colonial administrator who later trained as a psychoanalyst, Octave Mannoni (Mannoni 1990), albeit that Fanon also repudiated the essentialism of Mannoni’s account of the psychology of colonisation. That is, the imposed ‘dependency’ of the colonialised (that is used to disempower, disenfranchise and dispossess them) is matched by an equivalent inferiority complex of those positioned as colonisers, or beneficiaries of colonial privilege and power.

There are lots of practical implications here. If, as psychoanalysts and group analysts, we fail to engage with the political as well as personal character of this traumatically repeating context, then not only is our psychoanalysis is asocial. It also colludes with the longstanding denial of the everyday realities of racism, marginalisation and exclusion experienced by black and indigenous and racially othered peoples, those of the Global South or Global majority. (No terminology is adequate here, so I hope you will bear with me.) The continuing resonance of Fanon’s powerful, passionate words, before as well as since the brutal murder of George Floyd that galvanised the #BlackLivesMatter movement, speaks powerfully to the sense of ongoing recognition of and identification with those experiences of racialisation, stigmatization and alienation.

Before I move on from the theme of embodiment, I should mention some more recent and highly relevant analyses that have taken up and elaborated Fanon’s focus on the material, (non-) relationality of embodiment, and how relational experiences become ‘written on the body’ (in Jeanette Winterson’s evocative phrase) to inform how we move and inhabit our bodies and so live our lives. Just to take a few examples, I’m thinking here of accounts such as the philosopher Lewis Gordon’s Fear of Black Consciousness (Gordon 2022), and Mathew Beaumont’s compelling How we walk: Frantz Fanon and the politics of the body (Beaumont 2024) which, interestingly, makes reference to the neurologist Goldstein who is known to have been a key figure for Foulkes, as well as Ghislane Kinouani’s (2021) Living while Black.

From this theme of embodiment, further major questions set in play include: the agency of subjects; how subjects are, or can be (made) objects, and – crucially – what we invest or project into skin colour.

2. Psychiatry

My second theme concerns psychiatry, and this brings into focus group analysis’ ambivalent relationship to psychiatry. Many key group analysts are or started out as psychiatrists and so this brings the politics of medicine and medicalisation to the fore.

Fanon addressed head on the role of psychiatry as offering scientific, intellectual legitimacy to colonialism. He trenchantly countered the then predominant ‘Algiers School’ of psychiatry led by Antoine Porot whose claims about the lesser intellectual and emotional capacities of North Africans explicitly pathologized indigenous populations under French colonial rule to warrant settler colonialism. Fanon not only challenged the scientificity of these claims but also the political uses to which such claims to science were being put. He also highlighted the cultural-political assumptions structuring and informing psychiatric models and practices. Against individualist explanations, he put forward what he called a sociogenic approach, showing how sociopolitical processes create the conditions for, shape and produce individual experience.

So, importantly, Fanon did not reject psychiatry, or the project of attending to, and where possible alleviating, individual psychological distress. Rather he exposed the corrupt and malign features of European psychiatry, both theoretically and practically. Fanon encountered both aspects, not only in his training but very directly in Algeria. Not only did he transform the abusive and inhuman conditions he found at Hôpital Blida -Joinville, he also instituted widespread reforms to support and empower both the native Algerian and European patients, as well as militate for more resources to transform the primitive conditions of the hospital. Even as he introduced milieu therapy and psychoanalytic psychotherapy, and a hospital newsletter (which also functioned to recruit and educate the nursing staff to his reforming measures), he ran up against institutional limits. In the context of the colonial context and gradual escalation of the anticolonial struggle happening around him, he encountered direct challenges to what could be achieved in transforming the hospital alone. As is well-known (see e.g. Gendzier 1973), He gave shelter to rebels and freedom fighters within the asylum, and the tortured would encounter the torturers in its confines – both (it could be argued) driven mad by the colonial regime.

Eventually, as documented in his famous Resignation Letter (Fanon, 1956/2018), Fanon denounced psychiatry and psychiatric practice in Algeria as both serving and obscuring colonial purposes, declaring that his ethical-political responsibilities as a citizen, as a human being, transcended professional interests, and indeed made his practice as a mental health professional impossible. He also denounced the French occupation’s depersonalisation and dehumanisation of the native population, as rendering them alienated and estranged from their own land and from themselves, such that ethical psychiatric practice was impossible in these conditions.

If we attend to Fanon’s case studies of the casualties of the brutal colonial war that comprise the final third of Wretched of the Earth and, perhaps even more relevantly the sensitive analysis he offers in his second book, A Dying Colonialism, of the ways suspicion and distrust undermine the relationship and so treatment processes between ‘native’ patient and even the most well-meaning and committed doctor, we might ask: how much has changed since?

Summing up so far then, we have the theme of the body (as socially and historically constituted as racialised), of alienation – from the body and from the body politic, and of how colonial (and other sociopolitical) dynamics get inside and structure therapeutic and clinical relationships.

3. Institutions

This brings me to the third theme: institutions. Fanon was trained in Institutional Psychotherapy by the Catalan psychiatrist and political activist, François Tosquelles, from whom he learnt his psychoanalytic politics as well as his practice. Tosquelles had come to France to escape the Spanish dictatorship and his experiences of internment in French concentration camps had consolidated his view that individuals could only be cured when, and if, the institutions changed (or were dismantled). That is, the mental hospital is not separate from wider community, cultural and institutional processes. Hence personal emancipation relies on political liberation, and institutional transformation is not only central to this but is its prerequisite. This is clearly a much more radical approach to therapeutic community work than the British versions elaborated largely as adjuncts to, rather than critiquing, war and nationalism. It goes beyond the humanising, resocialising initiatives practiced by Bion and Foulkes in Northfield Hospital, for example. And it has significant practical implications for our work as psychoanalysts and group analysts now. Unlike the British or French ‘antipsychiatrists’ (Laing, Deleuze et al), like Tosquelles, Fanon did not romanticise distress or read it as only an expression of wider capitalist (or in his analysis, also colonial) oppression. Madness, he wrote, is a form of unfreedom arising from and as a response to experiences of alienation and oppression, that could only be cured in contexts of wider liberation struggles.

Fanon took up Tosquelles’ model to transform the treatment of the patients in Hôpital Blida- Joinville, the main hospital in Algeria of which he became medical director, and later even when in exile in Tunisia he founded a day hospital. He regarded this as a development from and of Tosquelles’ approach, building on it as avoiding the abusive and oppressive aspects of residential asylums, while also maintaining the social bonds of the patients with their families and communities. He notes that where and if these were the relations that precipitated the patients’ distress, they would be activated (rather than masked by the separation of residential care) and so made available for analysis (Fanon 2959a/2018, 2959b/2018).
It is clear that Fanon always combined individual analysis and groupwork. He neither subscribed to individualism nor did he see people as passive cyphers or victims of their social position or socialisation, even as he recognised the role of specific but institutionally structured experiences. This analytical framework is important, politically and interpersonally. Fanon saw institutions as both enabling and necessary but also potentially (and often) constraining. He challenged oppressive institutions, but – as his cautionary essays on the problems of spontaneism and popularism in Wretched of the Earth make clear – he understood organisation as necessary to harness and channel individual responses (see also Gibson 2013).

On such matters, some similarities can be drawn with Elias and his account of the maelstrom. Like Fanon, Elias highlights how what sometimes may appear to be individual agency is in fact produced by social conditions. Yet Fanon, working from the maelstrom of colonial struggle, saw agency as ‘actionality’, as always present and (potentially) available. The problem is the way societal arrangements wilfully disarm, paralyse, or otherwise obscure such capacities.

4. Violence

This brings us to the question of violence, including institutional violence. Violence is a much-misunderstood aspect of Fanon’s thinking, and so often passed over or overlooked. It likely makes many therapists uncomfortable. Yet in part this is due to the misrepresentation of Fanon’s position made by Sartre in the Preface he wrote to Fanon’s final book, Wretched of the Earth. Sartre attributed to Fanon what are largely now recognised as his own opinions about the cathartic features of violence, as linked to the decadence of, and what he, that is, Sartre, saw as need for destruction of western culture. Sartre’s address was to the French Left, to galvanise them into action (Kuby 2015). But Fanon certainly was not opposed to armed resistance, where it was necessary. Yet he did not glorify, still less celebrate, violence.

Remember, even before he joined the FLN he had volunteered as a soldier fighting fascism in the Free French forces as a teenager, and his military prowess then was what won him his scholarship to study in France. As a representative of the FLN. Fanon was certainly advocating anticolonial resistance. But as one of his last speeches (‘Why we use violence’, Fanon 1960/2018) makes clear, this violence was necessary to counter the already existing violence of the colonial situation. As he argues in this speech, colonialism’s violence is not only physical and material but also epistemic and psychological; its knowledge regimes erase indigenous histories that pre-existed colonisation and so make colonialism (like capitalism) seem like the only possible reality. Think about the violence we experience now of not being allowed to speak about violence, of the violent suppression of dissent and shutting down of protest and even access to the history and ideas that we are currently witnessing.

Now we come to what I believe is a key point. Especially for those who have been oppressed and subjugated into silence, or in Fanon’s terms zombified, petrified or stuck in agonising (but not agonistic) spasms of suppressed responses, there is a kind of violence in self-assertion. The experience of being tossed about by the maelstrom, or being subject to apparently arbitrary and unpredictable and overwhelming forces, may well be experienced as hugely disempowering and distressing. It is terrifying and terrorising. Fanon invites us to

consider what we can do now to recover our capacities to feel and act together. This is where Fanon’s analysis goes beyond the individualist responses or psychological imperatives I read as suggested by Poe’s story. Instead, it brings into the picture not only the arrogance of the fisherman whose greed emboldens them to venture into the dangerous waters that the indigenous people know to avoid, and so how only one of the three brothers survives. It also invites us to think of the violence of ‘the group situation’ (in Foulkes’ famous phrase). That is, of group members who are alienated because they are so tossed around that their defence is to turn themselves into a certain shape of object – “barrelling” themselves as it could perhaps be said. Perhaps this is another basic assumption state? Or, what of group members who survive groups by attaching themselves to another safe object (or person) to navigate the wild waters of their relational encounters (inside and outside therapeutic groups)?

For Fanon, violence includes states of mind, as well as geopolitical, economic arrangements that have to be overthrown. Reflecting his focus on the psychic impacts of colonialism, however, Fanon’s primary focus was the huge effort involved in the subjective restoration of agency and capacities to assert oneself, or what he called becoming ‘actional’ (see also Burman 2020). Perhaps this corresponds in some way to Elias’ proposals about involved detachment. But, importantly, in his address to the oppressed, Fanon characterised this process of becoming ‘actional’ as so difficult and shocking as to be potentially experienced as a form of psychic violence. Liberation at psychic as well as sociopolitical levels is no easy matter. Indeed, even as the political may be a prerequisite for personal liberation, it is nevertheless no guarantor of it (as Fanon’s cautionary notes in Wretched of the Earth make clear).

5. Culture

Now we come to the theme of culture, including the culture (or cultures) of psychoanalysis and group analysis. Having read most of Fanon’s clinical papers, I can’t say I endorse significant aspects of his practice – since this included extensive use of shock and insulin therapy, which are to me abusive. Yet other aspects of his practice were startlingly perceptive and inspirational.

Fanon recognised the ways Eurocentric assumptions entered into not only the models but also the tools and methodologies of psychiatry, psychology and psychotherapy. Yet he neither rejected these methods, nor essentialised indigenous cultural practices (remember he was a strong critic of the ‘negritude’ movement). Rather, he worked hard to understand better how the sociopolitical entered into specific hospital practices and professional-patient interactions. So, introducing what might now be called culturally humble, respectful or sensitive measures, he established a ‘Moorish café’ in the hospital for the Arabic men and brought an Imam in to hold services for the Muslim majority patients. He also attempted to counter the community ostracization of the Muslim women patients, for whom hospital admission emerged to be irredeemably socially stigmatizing. In this sense, he not only acknowledged the role of culture and religious practices within self and group identities but, where he saw these as unhelpful and oppressive (in this case, to women) he challenged these. This, I think, anticipates some more recent feminist, including Black feminist. critical engagements with liberal multicultural approaches (Gupta 2003; Dhaliwal & Yuval-Davis, 2014).

Beyond this, he exposed the cultural chauvinisms and ethnocentrism structured into assessment tools, tasks and relationships that gave rise to deficit judgments of patient qualities and capacities. (He and his co-worker, Charles Geronimi, discuss the relational encounter, and cultural irrelevance, of the use of the Thematic Apperception Task (TAT), for example, highlighting the cultural irrelevance of the items in its standardised story completion task materials that prevented the Muslim women patients from formulating their narrative responses (Fanon & Geronimi, 1956/2018). In the context of medico-legal assessment, he offered dramatic challenge to both the prevailing professional and colonial order by attesting to the impossible dilemma faced by Algerian defendants in court. He and another co-author (that is, Fanon & Lacaton, 2018/1955) suggested that, rather than reflecting some kind of inherent unreliability or incapacity, these men’s unstable pleas instead reflected the impossibility of their position: pleading innocence in court would imply subscription to the very colonial regime (of which surely courts are an indicative authority) that caused them to (be deemed to) act in supposedly ‘illegal’ ways in the first place. It’s worth thinking of parallels now.

6. Therapy

This brings us to formulate some indications for therapy. It follows from all I have been saying about Fanon’s analyses, that conducting therapy in the context of structural inequalities always risks recapitulating these inequalities. Worse than this, it can promote adaptation to unbearable conditions and pathologise dissent. Yet notwithstanding these reservations, and, importantly, under conditions of progressive social transformation Fanon maintained a key place for psychoanalytic and psychotherapeutic work, attending to specific histories and subjective meanings accorded both structural conditions and personal experiences. He modelled ways of working that acknowledged how the political produces personal distress in ways that neither reduced the personal to the political nor separated the political from the personal.

The challenge for us is to consider the ethical-political possibilities and the limits of our actions as psychological and psychoanalytic practitioners. This includes being discerning and critical about the resources we draw upon to inform our practice, as much as challenging the sedimented layers of power relations in which psychotherapeutic practice fits. Fanon’s lesson here is that, while oppressive conditions prevail, this should never be a comfortable fit. But this does not mean that we have to conform to those conditions, nor that our work is to make others conform. In this sense, we neither can nor should attempt to ‘quiet’ or tranquilise either the maelstrom or our responses to it.

7. Groups

My seventh, and final, theme is (of course) about Groups. Tosquelles’ and then Fanon’s Institutional Psychotherapy placed great emphasis on working in groups; not only work groups but also therapy groups. The transformative and transforming institution mirrors the transforming social context, and this supports individual change and transformation. Fanon celebrated the revolutionary psychic as well as political possibilities of the Algerian anticolonial struggle. He noted the transitions taking place in gender and generational divisions and relations, after a long period of sedimentation and ossification due to colonial subjugation as well as custom and tradition. The unquestioned can become open to (re)consideration.

But change has to be collective and its success cannot rely on spontaneity or populism. Fanon was no libertarian individualist, nor a Stalinist. People undergoing radical conditions of subjective and political transformation need support and the sometimes wild and violent desires released need to be managed and channelled. Crucially, his calls for popular mobilisation and collective action also demanded democratic accountability. The Party, or leadership, serves the people, rather than leading them. In his final book, Wretched of the Earth written as he was dying, Fanon anticipated the ways the progressive impetus of the Algerian revolutionary would be stalled and co-opted by the native bourgeoisie replacing the French colonial rulers.

While no theorist of group therapy, Fanon nevertheless recognised the radical possibilities this could set in play (Burman 2016b,c). I suggest we need to bring this Fanonian sensibility to play into our groups, whether therapeutic groups or political groups.

I can discern Fanonian aspects in (some versions of) group analysis – in the radical democracy of analysis by the group, for the group, including the conductor. But group analysis has also inherited the political insecurities and cultural assumptions of its forebears and practitioners. We have to recognise, consider and address these. The migrant, refugee desire to fit in, to be settled (what a resonant term!), the ambivalent and ambiguous and largely enforced experiences of marginality, all these so often translate into a kind of institutional conformity and social conservatism. A kind of ‘don’t rock the boat’ – to make another link to the Poe story. But, continuing Poe’s image, we might instead see that this boat has well and truly capsized and we are not simply adrift but spinning. Indeed, in my reading, the story suggests that the boat and its structures may be more of a liability than salvation.

More prosaically, we cannot avoid taking responsibility for what our organisations do in our name. This means that we cannot shy away from using our collective voices and bodies to stand for justice, and against injustice, wherever it occurs and of whatever kind. This is Fanon’s ‘actionality’.

And so to conclude. I want to flag the forthcoming Special Issue of Group Analysis, that Suryia Nayak and I are co-editing. This will include much more information about Tosquelles’ Institutional Psychotherapy (IP) and its influence on Fanon, As also the

conditions in which Tosquelles’ elaborated his approach (see also Robcis, 2016, 2020), and in particular the feminist prehistory of IP with Agnès Masson’s ‘geopsychiatry’ (Maso, 2024). I want, finally, to finish by recalling Fanon’s call (in A Dying Colonialism) to ‘analyse patiently and lucidly……………….. and every time we do not understand, we must tell ourselves that we are at the heart of the drama’ (125, emphasis added).

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