Accusations between criticism and praise
I accuse Apuleius, Saint Augustine, Ibn Khaldun and the others!
They are renowned writers, masters of the pen and of thought, but they lived in historical betrayal. In their mother's betrayal!
Other writers are little known, little known or unknown, but they are the masters of these masters! When the student gives the lesson to his teacher.
I accuse Apuleius of Madaure the Amazigh (125-170), son of M’daourouch. Writer, philosopher and orator of the first rank, certainly. Although he is considered the father and creator of the literary genre called “the novel”, with his exceptional book The Golden Donkey, I accuse him. Lucius, main character of The Golden Ass, well described, transformed into a donkey, has always intrigued me, fascinated me, but I blame Apuleius.
I accuse Saint Augustine (354-430), Augustine of Hippo or of Annaba, son of Thagaste or Souk Ahras. Whatever the names of the cities, he is the son of Tamazgha, North Africa.
I accuse Saint Augustine, the writer I love very much! I accuse Saint Augustine, author of Confessions and The City of God, which I reread with great intellectual pleasure from time to time. I have a lot of esteem for his philosophical reflections and for his literary satire and, all of this, at the same time, annoys me, and I accuse. With his book Confessions, the son of Thagaste or Souk Ahras is considered the father of the art of autobiography. I love Saint Augustine, son of Aghaste Souk Ahras to the point of hatred! And I accuse him.
I accuse Ibn Khaldoun (1332-1406), the scholar, the historical genius, the genius and the fine writer. The most intelligent North African writer, certainly, or perhaps, but I accuse him. Although he is considered in the history of universal thought as the dean of sociology and urban planning, with his book Al Mouqaddima, the writing of which was begun in the caves of Taghazout, a few kilometers from Frenda , wilaya of Tiaret, I accuse him. Ibn Khaldoun is a school and an extraordinary library, certainly, but I accuse him.
Even if Al Bakri (1014-1094), the travel writer without travel, amazed us with the adventures of his book Kitab al masalik wa al mamalik, I accuse him. Although he left us a well-illustrated description of North Africa, places and names, he remains a defendant in History. He remains in the dock!
If Ibn Battuta (1304-1368), son of Tangier, is one of the best Berber explorers and travelers who traveled the world from Tangier to Bulgaria in the north, to the land of the rising Sun in the east, to Timbuktu in the south.
Certainly, there are many contradictions and textual repetitions-plagiarisms in his writings, but his book Tuhfat an-nudhar fi gharab al amsar wa ajaib al asfar (masterpiece for those who contemplate the splendors of cities and the wonders travels) will remain a fantastic text for its truths, for its creative imaginations and for its lies. And I accuse him.
Why do I accuse Apuleius of Madaure, Saint Augustine of Thagast and others? I accuse them because they preferred to write their masterpiece in Latin or Roman Latin instead of their mother tongue, Tamazight. Why do I accuse Ibn Khaldoun, Ibn Rushd, Al Bakri and Ibn Battuta and others?
These children from North Africa, the children of Berberia or Tamazgha, preferred to use the Arabic language to the detriment of their mother tongue Tamazight. Although they have bequeathed us wonders, I accuse these genius writers, writers, philosophers, historians and travelers because they remain the beginning of evil. If these geniuses had preserved their mother's language by using it in their writings, today's generations would not experience this identity discomfort.
If the Amazighs who had invaded Spain or the Iberian Peninsula, whatever, had brought with them their Amazigh language to create with it, in it, poetry, philosophy, translation, this language would have today another dimension today. If all these beautiful people of books, of Latin-Roman or Arabic words had written what they had written in their mother tongue, Tamazight, their great-great-sons would not and will not suffer from this identity disorder. This gaping wound in the heart and in the tongue.
For this, I want to say to all these great names of thought and literature, that if they have forgotten, they have betrayed, other writers have refused to commit treason. We don't spit on breast milk.
And to the sons and daughters of the poet Si Mohand u Mhand, the one who did not betray his language, I say thank you for continuing the literary adventure in the Amazigh language.
I pay tribute to the writer Da Abdallah Hamane (died in Oran in 2018), translator of the Quatrains of Omar Khayyâme into the Amazigh language. Tribute to Rachid Aliche, who died in 2008, author of Faffa, to Amar Mezdad, the most prolific Kabyle writer, author of Idh d Wass (the night and the day), to Saïd Sadi, author of Askuti, to Abdenour Abdessalem, to Dyhia Lwis, to Brahim Tazaghart, to Lynda Koudache, to Selem Zenia, to Djamel Laceb, to Rachid Oulebsir, to Ahcene Mariche and others, and there are many of them. Thank you all, you did not betray breast milk. You are the beautiful lesson that the student gives to his master. The grandson to his grandfather.
Amin zaoui.
Forum translation