Tizi Ouzou Journal
A Slain Berber Singer's Voice Rouses His Hometown
By MICHAEL SLACKMAN
Published: October 10, 2005 by the NYT
TIZI OUZOU, Algeria - High in the jagged mountains
covered with olive and fig trees, his voice booms from
a minivan as it twists along narrow winding roads to
drop off students after a day of school.
----
Redux Pictures for The New York Times
A painting of Lounès Matoub adorns his childhood home
in Taourirt Moussa, Algeria.
-----
Music of a Slain Berber Singer
Redux Pictures for The New York Times
A metal sculpture in the form of the Berber symbol of
freedom marks the spot where Mr. Matoub was killed by
gunmen in June 1998 on a mountain road near his
hometown.
Head down into this city and there he is again, this
time larger than life, in a poster mounted on a cafe
wall while, of course, his voice booms from the stereo
behind the counter. In shops, offices, restaurants -
everywhere in this region, it seems - is the voice of
Lounès Matoub.
"Never surrender, never surrender," he sings, strong
and folksy. "Of course times change, but you should
never forget."
Someone tried to silence Mr. Matoub on June 25, 1998;
his car was sprayed with 79 bullets. Instead, he
became in death a powerful symbol of defiance for an
ethnic minority that has challenged the government's
decision to define Algeria as an Arab nation.
This is Kabylia, one of Algeria's most restive regions
- home to a stubborn and proud ethnic minority of
Berbers who since independence four decades ago have
fought to preserve their cultural identity and
independence. While politicians and village elders
have helped lead the fight, the soul of this struggle
is captured in music, especially the music of Mr.
Matoub.
"Music is much more a symbol of our identity than it
is about entertainment," said Ousmail Abderrahmane,
owner of a music shop in this city, the Kabylia
region's capital.
Considered by many the original inhabitants of
northern Africa, the Berbers had their own language,
music and culture until the region was effectively
Arabized as Islam spread a thousand years ago.
While many people in Algeria have Berber ancestors,
those in the Kabylia region cling to their language
and customs, even while adopting Islam as a faith. The
women wear bright-colored traditional dress, and the
men participate in elder councils, which govern
affairs in their mountain villages. The Berbers were
also known as fierce fighters, and Kabylia contributed
many forces during the eight-year war of independence
from France.
But after more than a century under French rule,
Algeria's new government decided to forge an Arab
identity, and the Berbers felt betrayed. They had
believed that independence would give them greater
autonomy over their affairs, not less. Over time, the
Berbers of Kabylia began to organize, politically and
socially, staging boycotts and acts of civil
disobedience to force the government into talks. There
have been violent confrontations as well.
In battles of identity, language often becomes the
front line, and so while the issues for the Berbers
are many, the flash point is the government's
insistence that Arabic serve as the only official
language. People from this region want their language,
Tamazight, to have equal status, but the president
refuses to budge.
"Algeria above all," read a recent headline in El
Moudjahid, the government-controlled daily newspaper.
"The head of state has chaired a rally on Thursday in
Constantine, and he has stated Arabic will remain the
sole official language."
Through brutal force and careful political
calculation, the government has managed to secure the
country. But the people of Kabylia are still fighting:
boycotting elections, refusing to pay utility bills,
insisting on greater democracy and some degree of
self-rule. Music has helped pass the struggle from
generation to generation, to unite political factions
behind common ideas and to help keep the fires of
resistance burning.
The region's four most popular musicians sing about
the struggle for identity. Indeed, one of them, Idir,
has an album titled "Identity." But Mr. Matoub remains
the biggest seller, said Mr. Abderrahmane, the music
shop owner. His lyrics tell of daily life in Kabylia,
of oppression and of contemporary events, like the day
in 2001 when the military opened fire on citizens
protesting and rioting after a local boy was killed
while in custody.
"O my life, o my life, the mountains are my life,
Kabylia is my whole life." The words are Mr. Matoub's,
but they are being sung softly by three young women
standing side by side on the edge of a mountain road.
Dahbir Ouidir is 19 years old. Sabina Wahan and
Yasmine Lasmi are 16. They are a year behind in their
studies because they joined thousands of other young
people in a one-year school boycott as a sign of
defiance.
They came home from school in a minivan, as the driver
played a Matoub album. Stepping out, they said they
would be happy to sing their favorite Matoub song, and
soon the three , eyes closed, drew a crowd.
"People identify with his poetry," Ms. Ouidir said,
her face flushed after singing.
Samir Rehane, a tall, slender 18-year-old with a book
bag under his arm, overheard the conversation and
walked over. "Matoub is a son of my village," he said.
"He is a teacher for us. He is a symbol of freedom."
Down the road, in the village of Taourirt Moussa, a
red marble tomb is decorated with dozens of tiny
Algerian flags. It is where Mr. Matoub is buried, and
it has become a pilgrimage site. The tomb is in front
of Mr. Matoub's childhood home, which has been
transformed into a shrine. The bullet-riddled Mercedes
sedan he was driving when he was killed is parked in
the garage, with a piece of tape on the driver's seat
that marks a hole from the fatal bullet.
"We are not only interested in his music," said Ali
Yashir, 21, who visited the grave one recent day. "We
are interested in what he stands for. His struggle and
his ideas will go on forever."
There is another shrine for Mr. Matoub at the
mountainside scene of the ambush. A large metal
sculpture, it depicts the Berber symbol of freedom, a
crude stick figure of a person with raised hands.
Mounted between the hands is a drawing by a popular
Algerian political cartoonist, Ali Dilem, which was
used as one of Mr. Matoub's album covers.
There is also a carved stone plaque nearby with a
phrase that might well have been a chorus in one of
Mr. Matoub's own songs: "Even if you are dead, you are
still alive. A History. A Struggle. A Hope."
A Slain Berber Singer's Voice Rouses His Hometown
By MICHAEL SLACKMAN
Published: October 10, 2005 by the NYT
TIZI OUZOU, Algeria - High in the jagged mountains
covered with olive and fig trees, his voice booms from
a minivan as it twists along narrow winding roads to
drop off students after a day of school.
----
Redux Pictures for The New York Times
A painting of Lounès Matoub adorns his childhood home
in Taourirt Moussa, Algeria.
-----
Music of a Slain Berber Singer
Redux Pictures for The New York Times
A metal sculpture in the form of the Berber symbol of
freedom marks the spot where Mr. Matoub was killed by
gunmen in June 1998 on a mountain road near his
hometown.
Head down into this city and there he is again, this
time larger than life, in a poster mounted on a cafe
wall while, of course, his voice booms from the stereo
behind the counter. In shops, offices, restaurants -
everywhere in this region, it seems - is the voice of
Lounès Matoub.
"Never surrender, never surrender," he sings, strong
and folksy. "Of course times change, but you should
never forget."
Someone tried to silence Mr. Matoub on June 25, 1998;
his car was sprayed with 79 bullets. Instead, he
became in death a powerful symbol of defiance for an
ethnic minority that has challenged the government's
decision to define Algeria as an Arab nation.
This is Kabylia, one of Algeria's most restive regions
- home to a stubborn and proud ethnic minority of
Berbers who since independence four decades ago have
fought to preserve their cultural identity and
independence. While politicians and village elders
have helped lead the fight, the soul of this struggle
is captured in music, especially the music of Mr.
Matoub.
"Music is much more a symbol of our identity than it
is about entertainment," said Ousmail Abderrahmane,
owner of a music shop in this city, the Kabylia
region's capital.
Considered by many the original inhabitants of
northern Africa, the Berbers had their own language,
music and culture until the region was effectively
Arabized as Islam spread a thousand years ago.
While many people in Algeria have Berber ancestors,
those in the Kabylia region cling to their language
and customs, even while adopting Islam as a faith. The
women wear bright-colored traditional dress, and the
men participate in elder councils, which govern
affairs in their mountain villages. The Berbers were
also known as fierce fighters, and Kabylia contributed
many forces during the eight-year war of independence
from France.
But after more than a century under French rule,
Algeria's new government decided to forge an Arab
identity, and the Berbers felt betrayed. They had
believed that independence would give them greater
autonomy over their affairs, not less. Over time, the
Berbers of Kabylia began to organize, politically and
socially, staging boycotts and acts of civil
disobedience to force the government into talks. There
have been violent confrontations as well.
In battles of identity, language often becomes the
front line, and so while the issues for the Berbers
are many, the flash point is the government's
insistence that Arabic serve as the only official
language. People from this region want their language,
Tamazight, to have equal status, but the president
refuses to budge.
"Algeria above all," read a recent headline in El
Moudjahid, the government-controlled daily newspaper.
"The head of state has chaired a rally on Thursday in
Constantine, and he has stated Arabic will remain the
sole official language."
Through brutal force and careful political
calculation, the government has managed to secure the
country. But the people of Kabylia are still fighting:
boycotting elections, refusing to pay utility bills,
insisting on greater democracy and some degree of
self-rule. Music has helped pass the struggle from
generation to generation, to unite political factions
behind common ideas and to help keep the fires of
resistance burning.
The region's four most popular musicians sing about
the struggle for identity. Indeed, one of them, Idir,
has an album titled "Identity." But Mr. Matoub remains
the biggest seller, said Mr. Abderrahmane, the music
shop owner. His lyrics tell of daily life in Kabylia,
of oppression and of contemporary events, like the day
in 2001 when the military opened fire on citizens
protesting and rioting after a local boy was killed
while in custody.
"O my life, o my life, the mountains are my life,
Kabylia is my whole life." The words are Mr. Matoub's,
but they are being sung softly by three young women
standing side by side on the edge of a mountain road.
Dahbir Ouidir is 19 years old. Sabina Wahan and
Yasmine Lasmi are 16. They are a year behind in their
studies because they joined thousands of other young
people in a one-year school boycott as a sign of
defiance.
They came home from school in a minivan, as the driver
played a Matoub album. Stepping out, they said they
would be happy to sing their favorite Matoub song, and
soon the three , eyes closed, drew a crowd.
"People identify with his poetry," Ms. Ouidir said,
her face flushed after singing.
Samir Rehane, a tall, slender 18-year-old with a book
bag under his arm, overheard the conversation and
walked over. "Matoub is a son of my village," he said.
"He is a teacher for us. He is a symbol of freedom."
Down the road, in the village of Taourirt Moussa, a
red marble tomb is decorated with dozens of tiny
Algerian flags. It is where Mr. Matoub is buried, and
it has become a pilgrimage site. The tomb is in front
of Mr. Matoub's childhood home, which has been
transformed into a shrine. The bullet-riddled Mercedes
sedan he was driving when he was killed is parked in
the garage, with a piece of tape on the driver's seat
that marks a hole from the fatal bullet.
"We are not only interested in his music," said Ali
Yashir, 21, who visited the grave one recent day. "We
are interested in what he stands for. His struggle and
his ideas will go on forever."
There is another shrine for Mr. Matoub at the
mountainside scene of the ambush. A large metal
sculpture, it depicts the Berber symbol of freedom, a
crude stick figure of a person with raised hands.
Mounted between the hands is a drawing by a popular
Algerian political cartoonist, Ali Dilem, which was
used as one of Mr. Matoub's album covers.
There is also a carved stone plaque nearby with a
phrase that might well have been a chorus in one of
Mr. Matoub's own songs: "Even if you are dead, you are
still alive. A History. A Struggle. A Hope."