Studies in French Cinema Volume 5 Number 2 2005 Intellect Ltd

Article. English language. doi: 10.1386/sfci.5.2.137/1

The post-Holocaust Jew in the age of

postcolonialism: La Haine revisited
Yosefa Loshitzky University of East London
Abstract

Keywords

This article expands on previous discussions of La Haine by concentrating specifically on the construction of the image of the Jew within the films representation
of a multi-ethnic, multi-racial, and multi-religious trio. Through this exploration,
the article not only raises questions regarding self-representation of the Jew in
La Haine, but also reflects on the justified ethical questions raised by the beur
film-makers who criticized Kassovitz on issues pertaining to authenticity, the
legitimacy of representing other communities, and the commercial exploitation
of oppressed minorities in and by cinema. By shifting the boundaries of the debate
on La Haine from the banlieue genre to the relationship between what I call the
post-Holocaust French Jew and the postcolonial context that characterizes the
condition of contemporary France, this article attempts to offer a different perspective on this highly controversial film.

Jews
the Holocaust
postcolonialism
French identity
beur cinema
banlieue cinema

Most of the discussions of Mathieu Kassovitzs La Haine, winner of the

Cannes Film Festival in 1995, the Csars in 1996 and one of the major
films to appear in postcolonial, increasingly multi-ethnic France, focused
on the film as representative of the three bs of beur/banlieue cinema, or in
the words of Mireille Rosello on the black/blanc/beur trio (Rosello 1998:
2). Although La Haine is not the first film associated with the banlieue film,
it has already been canonized as its prime example due, perhaps, to the
fact that it was the first film of this genre that enjoyed international
success. The films critique of urban alienation and racism against immigrants and ethnic minorities, as well as its success in globalizing images of
oppression, challenges dominant assumptions about French national identity and suggests that there is a wide interest in the popularization of social
critique through film.
Many critics have suggested that La Haine conducts transatlantic dialogue with American urban subculture and American popular culture as
a way of examining, articulating and forging French and European identity through cinema. They also have suggested that La Haine managed to
transcend its particular local French context and become part of an
emerging western, or even global, genre of film about the revolts of immigrant and ethnic diasporas in the ghettos and urban margins of the big
metropolitan centres of the West. Critics have also argued that La Haine
seeks to connect the urban rebellion depicted in the film not only to a
global ghetto culture but to wider postcolonial struggles.

SFC 5 (2) 137147 Intellect Ltd 2005

137

1. It is also both significant and interesting

to note in this context
that it was Peter
Kassovitz, Mathieus
father, who made
Jakob the Liar (1999),
a remake of the 1974
film Jakob the Liar,
directed by Frank
Beyer from a film
script by the childsurvivor author, Jurek
Becker and produced
by DEFA (Deutsche
FilmAktiengesellschaft),
the state-owned
studio of the German
Democratic Republic
(GDR). Mathieu
Kassovitz plays one of
the ghetto Jews in his
fathers film. In La
Haine, Peter Kassovitz
plays the owner of the
art gallery who comments, after the
expulsion of the trio
from this upper-middle-class arty space,
a troubled youth.
There is no indication
for the innocent spectator in this scene
that he is a Jew.

Missing from these many insightful and important interpretations is a

significant reference to the fact that the first beur/banlieue film was made
not by an authentic member of the beur community but rather by a
French Jew. The only meaningful exceptions are some of the independent
low-budget Maghreb film-makers in France who produced beur/banlieue
films around the same time as La Haine. These film-makers accused
Kassovitz of being an outsider and producing an inauthentic account of
the banlieue in France (quoted in Sharma and Sharma 2000: 114).
The image of the Jew in La Haine presents the complexity of the idea of
the Jew and of the Jewish response to his projection of difference in
western culture in general and in European cinema in particular.
Kassovitzs response is to construct a new image of the diasporic Jew
which not only responds to traditional images of the Jew in western
culture but also to the weakness and vulnerability associated with the Jew
as a victim of the Holocaust. Through the figure of Vinz (Vincent Cassell),
the post-Holocaust Jew and one of the three main protagonists of La Haine
- the other two are the black Hubert (Hubert Kound) and the Arab
Maghreb Sad (Sad Taghmaoui) - the film resists the very stereotype of the
Jew.
It is important to point out that, following Kassovitz himself, I focus on
the representation of the Jewish male, which, as Sander Gilman suggests,
lies at the very heart of Western Jew-hatred (Gilman 1991: 5). In the
post-Holocaust Jewish imagination it is the Jewish male who is assigned to
revenge Jewish victimization epitomized by the Holocaust.1 The ambivalent relationships to power embedded within the constructed figure of Vinz
(his obsessive fascination with and fetishization of the pistol, the phallocentric signifier of male power, versus his inability actually to shoot and
kill as is evident in the scene with the skinheads) therefore represent the
larger Jewish struggle with the issue of power (or lack of power) and particularly post-Holocaust power.

The young angry Jewish man: the ambivalence of Jewish

power in the post-Holocaust age
La Haine exemplifies as well as problematizes the dialectics associated with
Jewish power in the post-Holocaust age in two key scenes: the encounter
of the trio in a public lavatory with the elderly Jew who tells them a story
about another Jew, Grunwalski; and the trios encounter with the skinheads. These scenes are central to understanding not only the image of
the Jew constructed by Kassovitz, but also to the idealized multi-ethnic trio
to which his Jewish protagonist belongs.
The first scene introduces the audience to the Holocaust Jew, the survivor-played by Tadek Lokcinski, the Jewish grandfather in Kassovitzs
Mtisse/Caf au lait (1993), who like many eastern European Jews and
Polish Jews of the Holocaust generation is very short and has a distinctive
Yiddish accent. In this scene, the little old Jew tells the trio about a man
named Grunwalski who misses the cattle train en route to a labour camp
in Siberia because he went to relieve himself in the woods. When the train
was about to leave, his trousers were not on and he was too embarrassed
to run after the train while his private parts were exposed. This thought-

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provoking narrative digression confronts the spectator with Jewish weakness associated with the Holocaust, of the predicament of being literally
caught with their pants down. It gives the trio and the spectators alike
food for thought and leaves them wondering as to the meaning of the
story. What is ostensibly a digression in fact emerges as a narrative locus
providing the historical and ideological pretext for Vinzs behaviour.
It is quite significant to point out that most of the commentators who
have made references to this scene seem to have misread it. Although the
elderly Jew says very clearly that the train was on its way to a labour camp
in Siberia, critics referring to this key scene (out of limited knowledge of
the history of the Polish Jews during the Holocaust) take it for granted that
the train was en route to a concentration camp, resulting in a misinterpretation of its significance. The irony is not that by missing the train
(which probably looked like a tragedy to Grunwalski at the time that the
story was taking place) Grunwalski saved himself from a worse death in a
concentration or death camp, but that Grunwalski actually missed the
train that could have saved his life. Most of the Polish Jews who survived
the Holocaust were those who escaped to the Soviet Union after the
German invasion to Poland. Many of them, under Stalins orders, were
sent to labour camps in Siberia because they refused to give up their Polish
citizenship and accept Soviet papers. Although some of the forced Jewish
labourers died in the Soviet camps, for most Polish Jews, these camps were
their only chance for survival.
The location of the scene is significant. It takes place in a mens public
toilet, an all-male public (yet semi-private/secret) space invested with associations of prostitution, AIDS, casual homosexual (including anal) sex.
The story about Grunwalski, as told by the elderly Jew, also deals with anal
themes, and its thematic core is centred on the consequences of the desire
to defecate in private. The choice of the mens public toilet as the location
for invoking the Holocaust is indeed unusual, although only one of many
puzzling stories, unresolved anecdotes, bizarre jokes, and digressions from
the main narrative that characterize the plot structure of La Haine. Yet of
all the narrative digressions in this film, the most disturbing and enigmatic is this encounter with the elderly Jew and his story about
Grunwalski. Sad speaks for the spectators as well in repeatedly asking:
Why is he telling us this? and Huberts explanations only accentuate the
ambiguity.
The similarities between the story about Grunwalski and the state of
the postcolonial trio - an anal story told in a public lavatory, the missing
of the train by Grunwalski and the missing of the metro by the trio, the
Jewishness common to the little Jew and big Vinz, the history of racial
oppression and the attempt to maintain human dignity even in the face of
racial persecution - beg for an allegorical reading. What is the relationship
then between this episode that introduces the Holocaust through the back
door or, to put it crudely, through the toilet door, and the major plot of La
Haine? Does the story told by the little Jew bear any significance for the life
of the three? Can it help them in any way to resolve their own problems?
Are there any similarities between the story of Grunwalski and the little
Jew and their story? And does this little story, as told by the little Jew (an

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139

almost insignificant story in itself within the framework of the grand narrative of the Holocaust) imply that the Holocaust has any lesson for the
postcolonial trio? Does the Jews story contain the potential answer to the
conflict between Vinz and Hubert regarding the reaction to racist oppression? (Vinzs wish is to revenge Abdels death through a murder of a
French policeman, whereas Hubert objects to it on the basis that hatred
breeds hatred and violence generates violence.)
The careful attention given by Kassovitz to the mise-en-scne of this
narrative digression shows that he attributes enormous significance to
what seems on the surface to be a narrative slippage. In the frame we see
only Sad and Huberts reflections appearing on the toilet mirrors while
their backs are facing each other. Sad talks over the phone and does not
take part in the discussion between Vinz and Hubert. The elderly little Jew
surprises the three when he emerges from the toilet. He does not look at all
frightened (something that we would except from an involuntary witness
to a discussion over whether or not to murder a policeman, a little white
guy confronted by three, big, aggressive-looking youngsters) and without
pausing for a moment he starts telling his story in heavily accented
French. In contrast to the three, whom we see only as reflections, the little
Jew is seen not as a reflection in the mirror, but only as an image on the
screen. His figure thus attains on the one hand a certain quality of reality,
but on the other hand it gains a certain quality of phantom surrealism,
because in a room full of mirrors he is not reflected at all.
Does the Jew intend his story as a pedagogical parable for the three
because he heard their discussion and wants to teach them a moral lesson
through his story, or is he just queer (literally and metaphorically)? And
even if he did not intend to deliver a didactic message, does his story still
contain a moral lesson? Perhaps even a post-Holocaust lesson? These
questions seem to perplex the trio as well. However, their attempt to make
sense out of this bizarre story fails and Grunwalskis story remains for
them an unresolved riddle, an empty story devoid of meaning, a story
about a horrible yet meaningless and grotesque death.
The failure of the young men to make sense out of this encounter with
the little Jew and his story generates yet another allegory: an allegory on
the blindness of postcolonial Europe to read its present in light of its near
past. Europes failure to understand the consequences of racism and to
treat its postcolonial and minorities justly, even in light of the aftermath of
the Holocaust, is the tragic point where the Holocaust and the postcolonial meet. The inability of the three to read their own life narratives
against the backdrop of Grunwalskis story (which can be seen as a commentary on the meaninglessness of racism and genocide) signifies the artificial rupture between the post-Holocaust state of Europe and its ongoing
racializing practices in the age of postcolonialism.
Kassovitz introduces this theme most prominently in Vinzs idea of
avenging Abdels death by murdering a policeman, which provokes
Hubert, who is more pragmatic and self-controlled, to denounce Vinzs
desire. A verbal conflict ensues and Sad and Hubert separate from the
hateful and vindictive Vinz whose loneliness, his feeling of being deserted
even by his closest friends at this painful moment, is conveyed through a

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Godardian composition which shows him isolated in the frame against a

huge stone or concrete sculpture of an open palm holding a head. The
huge sculpture dwarfs Vinz, exposing his fragility and sense of helplessness
and isolation. The visual choreography of the shot creates an ironic gap
between the grandeur of Vinzs revenge fantasy and the limits of his power.
I know who I am and where I come from, Vinz cries out to his friends
who have deserted him. In this scene, as in many other scenes in the film,
Kassovitz enables the spectator to read the films heroes against the grain
by enjoying and sharing the ironic perspective of the omniscient narrator
that, despite Vinzs challenging and provocative cry, he does not know
who he is, and certainly not where he comes from. Positioned at the
threshold of committing murder, Vinzs words recall a famous Mishnaic
precept (Babylonian Talmud, Ethics of the Fathers 3: 1): Akavia Ben
Mahallel said: Ponder three things and you will avoid falling into the grip
of sin: Know whence you come, whither you go, and before whom you will
be required to give an accounting. Vinz alludes, however, not to the earth
from which we come and to which we return but to his moral commitment, his expression of solidarity and sense of shared destiny with the
wretched of the earth, the oppressed minorities of the banlieue. But in retrospect, after the spectator is made a witness to Vinzs death, his words
obtain a full and fatal tragic meaning. If the words of the rabbinic Jewish
text are meant to steer believers away from crime, then Vinzs cry for
revenge reverses the original meaning of the Jewish text.
The logic of the narrative plot provides Vinz with an opportunity to
avenge the unjust death of Abdel, his Arab friend, not through the murder
of a police officer, but rather through the murder of a skinhead who, along
with his friends, attacks Hubert and Sad. Vinz faces the skinhead, his
pistol aimed at his bleeding head, but is unable to shoot him. Vinzs
epiphany, his moment of enlightenment and truth, which is also the
moment of reconciliation with his friends, is when he acknowledges his
weakness, his basic respect for human life and his fear of killing. Vinz
confronts his Jewish weakness exactly at the moment when revenge and
power can finally be obtained and even be morally justified; as Hubert
whispers to Vinz, There are bad cops and good cops but the only good
skinhead is a dead skinhead. Kassovitz amplifies this moment of revelation
in a self-reflexive manner. The young skinhead is played by none other
than himself, a Jewish director, who within the diegetic world of La Haine,
is acting like the creator, a sort of cinematic god in charge of the fictional
space in which his creations are at the mercy of his powerful hand (much
like the cinematic image of the sculpture of an huge open palm holding a
head). This surrealistic moment when Vinz, the child of Kassovitzs imagination, is holding the pistol to the bleeding face of his director/creator,
who made him suffer in the labyrinths of a narrative hell, is a moment of
poetic justice which empowers Vinz. Vinz discovers that the meaning of
real power is the acknowledgement of the limits of power, an acknowledgement which, by the end of the film, is revealed as problematic if not
tragic.
This scene also epitomizes the dialectics inherent in the state of the
post-Holocaust Jew. The fictional Jew (Vinz), who himself looks like a skin-

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head (before the confrontation with the skinheads Vinz says I see skinheads to which Hubert reacts by saying, You are a skinhead) cannot
shoot the fictional skinhead played by a real Jew who is also the source of
enunciation and narrative authority of this film. The scene thus creates a
situation of reflective duality of the self and its double/other. It is the
moment when the Jew confronts his other/double in the mirror.
Vinzs fascination with phallic power and guns is ultimately revealed to
be tragic. He cannot materialize his fantasy of absolute power by using it
against the right target (the skinhead), and he renounces it exactly at the
moment in which its materialization could have saved his own life. Thus
does Vinz, who many times throughout the film declares that he will kill a
cop so that they (the police) know we dont turn the other cheek, accept
his symbolic role as the Jewish Jesus who renounces hatred, revenge and
violence. In a symbolic gesture Vinz gives his gun to Hubert who is the
most educated, restrained and violence hater of the three. A few moments
later, the unarmed Vinz is killed by an armed police detective. Renouncing
violence by the Jew, Kassovitz implies, results in his liquidation.
The image of the character of Vinz projects ambivalence. Although he
is revengeful and obsessed with violence, at the moment of truth he is
discovered as weak. Despite his fantasies of violence, real violence makes
Vinz sick. The diasporic post-Holocaust Jew is unable to redeem the shame
inflicted on the Holocaust Jew by the possessors of absolute power. It is not
surprising therefore that in the final scene the Jew returns to his normal,
natural place: that of the victim.
The scene in Astrixs flat is used as a cinematic metonymy for this
political process, a symbolic stage of confrontation between ethnics and
immigrants against Frenchness and particularly between the Jew and the
pure French. The difficulty of the three young ethnics to enter into
Astrixs fancy flat located in one of Pariss chic neighbourhoods symbolizes their difficulty to enter the centre of the French national body. It seems
that the young men possess neither the real nor the symbolic password to
enter into this luxurious residence. Astrixs name shows that his is a
real and authentic Frenchman, a Gaul who lives, in the words of Sad,
in a flat the size of a castle. Yet this rooted Frenchman is a drug dealer, a
heavy user of cocaine who does not own the luxury flat. His excessive,
extravagant and exhibitionist sexuality (he dresses like Tarzan, moves in
a sort of dancing gait, has long hair, and his behaviour is
seductive/aggressive) also problematizes his straight Frenchness as well
as his sexual identity. Astrix challenges Vinz to a phallic battle over masculinity, made apparent when the two compare pistols hidden deep in their
trousers. This competition not only over the size of their pistols but also for
mastery over their tools turns into a comparison of symbolic ethnicity
whereby the size of the circumcised penis of the Jew is compared to that of
the non-Jew, the real Gaul. The competition turns into a performance, a
staging of symbolic penis envy of the French Jew towards the French nonJew who demonstrates unquestionable superiority over the male Jew in
mastering his pistol/penis. This performance of competitive masculinity,
tainted with racial overtones, develops into a power game of Russian
roulette that can be seen as an act of symbolic suicide by Vinz and recall-

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ing his imitation of Travis from Scorseses Taxi Driver (1976) in front of the
mirror at his home at the beginning of the film. Then, too, Vinz aims a
phantom pistol at his own reflection at the mirror, in a sort of proleptic
symbolic gesture of death wish or self-destruction or as an unconscious
prophecy of his imminent death and as an expression of split identity.
When the three find that they are no longer welcome in Astrixs kingdom
they leave his apartment and he shows them how he secretly neutralized
Vinzs pistol. Vinzs inferiority is thus publicly exposed and his feeling of
humiliation and defeat is reinforced by the policemen who are waiting for
them outside in the street. The attempt to break into the centre through
the hybridity of Astrix, the Gaul, fails. Astrix, despite his queerness, is
still more powerful than the ethnics; it is he who makes the rules and
breaks them at the same time.

Jewish passing: between black and white

The colour scheme that La Haine represents goes, as many critics of the
film observed, from the white Jew to the dark-brown Arab to the black
African. The use of a black-white continuum also contributes to a new
aesthetic of the non-white. It neutralizes the colour pigment and creates a
new aesthetics of the second generation of immigrants. They are young,
healthy and beautiful and have the potential to vitalize and invigorate old
Europe rather than to destroy it from within as the racist discourse claims.
The paradox intrinsic to this colour scheme represented by the male trio
(designed perhaps in the spirit of the united colours of Benetton) is that
the symbolic space that the Jewish Vinz is supposed to occupy is that of the
white, and therefore a blond, blue-eyed (Jewish) actor was chosen. Yet
the association of the Jew with whiteness, particularly in the European
context and even more specifically in the French context, is problematic
for a number of reasons. First, as many scholars have noted in the
European mind, traditionally, the Jew has not been perceived as white but
as oriental and even black. Second, given the fact that a major part of the
Jewish community in France (with a size of about half a million, today the
largest Jewish community in Europe outside the former Soviet Union)
came in a massive influx into the country in the 1960s from North Africa
following its decolonization, visually contradicts the whiteness of the Jew.
Furthermore, as the history of blacks and Jews and the view of the
Holocaust has been discussed in the general context of the modern history
of racism in the West, the status of Vinz as a signifier of whiteness becomes
all the more complex and intriguing. The view that the Holocaust of
European Jews can be seen in relation to the modern history of racial
slavery in the western hemisphere, not necessarily as a provocation but as
a resource from which, as Paul Gilroy suggests, we might learn something
valuable about the way that modernity operates (Gilroy 1993: 217), is a
view shared by many black intellectuals.
Why, then, did Kassovitz have to construct this idealized trio that mixes
ethnic and religious differences? Sharma and Sharma suggest that
Kassovitz seeks to present a humanized representation of racial minorities
in La Haine, and therefore each of the protagonists embodies a particular
disposition and response to their hostile social conditions (Sharma and

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143

2. According to Carrie
Tarr, Kassovitz
claimed that he
wanted to use a
Jewish character for
its folkloric interest, to
please his
grandmother, and
also to prevent the
story turning into a
story of clans, but
that a Portuguese
character would have
done as well (Tarr
1997: 47).

Sharma 2000: 106). Although I agree with their reading and would add
that Sad and Hubert in the racial economy of the film represent Frances
still-bleeding colonial wound, the question still remains: Why does
Kassovitz include a Jew within this trio (he could have chosen another
ethnic minority),2 and why (against traditional European images of the
Jew and against factual reality) does he turn him into the representative of
the white? A more comprehensive answer to this question in my view is
that the alliance that Kassovitz creates can be seen as an intervention in
the debate within the Jewish community in France about growing racism
against immigrants, particularly Muslim Arabs.
In La Haine Kassovitz remaps the symbolic space that the diaspora Jews
occupy today. He realigns the Jew with other oppressed minorities, suggesting that the new others in contemporary Europe are immigrants and
refugees from the poor countries who replace the classical others of
Europe. These others, the Jews and the Roma (the Gypsies), the two oldest
minorities in Europe, are the other within (Boyarin 1992: 77-98) associated with the East, and marked for extermination and total annihilation
by the Nazis. Moreover, the trio of La Haine represents the three largest
monotheistic religions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam, all originating
from the Jewish religion. The film suggests not only that these three religions have a common origin, but that European civilization is and should
be respectful of the Judeo-Christian-Muslim tradition on which it is based,
despite the expulsion of the Muslim component from European self-perceptions and self-definitions.
It is quite significant that the two Jews (besides Vinz) who appear in the
film as Jews - the grandmother and the man whom the trio meets in the
public toilet - are elderly, eastern-European Jews, survivors of the lost generation whose culture was annihilated as a result of the Holocaust. The
appearance of these two Jews, representatives of a lost Jewish civilization,
enhances the identity crisis of Vinz, the post-Holocaust Jew. As a young
male, Vinzs crisis of ethnic-religious identity is echoed by a crisis of masculinity manifested through his ambivalence towards phallic power. To
stress this search for identity in many of the films scenes, the young
males, and Vinz in particular, are seen closely scrutinizing their faces and
bodies in the mirror, exploring and investigating their young manhood
and comparing it to icons and role models of masculinity represented in
American popular cinema, notably in the scene where Vinz is mimicking
Travis Bickle in front of a mirror. Traviss troubled masculinity reflects on
Vinzs own struggle with his Jewish male identity.
Vinzs attempt to revolt against the femininity associated in the
European mind with the Jewish male is doomed to fail. The scene where
he watches a contest between two boxers both reflects and projects his
deep ambivalence and confusion between sex and violence, love and hate,
desire and destructiveness. The two boxers are two men, one black and the
other beur, thus constituting a super-virile-macho replica of his friends
Hubert and Sad. The fight between them turns into an embrace that is
both erotic and suffocating. The scene is shot at a slow pace (unlike the
very fast pace of the film in general) and is a bit blurry, adding a sensual
dimension to the physical touch between the two males, the objects of

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Vinzs fascinated gaze at the spectacle of the black and brown bodies. The
trio and Vinz in particular occupy a feminine submissive space (especially
in their relationship with the cops), and their experience of exclusion and
humiliation feminizes and emasculates them. Vinzs fascination and
attraction to violence does not empower him, but on the contrary feminizes and emasculates him. It relocates him in the traditional feminine
space reserved for the Jew in the European imagination.

Conclusion: post-Holocaust, postcolonialism and the apocalyptic

imagination
Bosnia came to symbolize for Europe the dichotomy of multiculturalism
versus tribal ethnicism; it materialized its worst ghosts and nightmares
and cast a shadow on its dream of creating a transnational, multicultural
and multi-ethnic entity. Bosnia plays a major role in the overall ideological
economy of La Haine. The news about Abdels death arrives in conjunction
with news about Bosnia. The words in neon Bosnia: Civil War are accompanied by Death of Abdel Ichana. The trios private grief thus becomes
symbolically public as in both, seemingly unrelated cases, Muslims are the
victims of European racial and ethnic hatred. The association made in this
episode between the genocide of the Muslims in Bosnia and the murder of
Abdel by a French policeman reminds the spectators that the Balkan is
within. The threat of ethnic hatred is not confined only to the other in
the barbaric Balkan, but is right here in Paris, one of the glorious capitals in the heart of civilized western Europe. European colonialism, the
film suggests, is not dead. But unlike classical colonialism it prospers and
thrives not outside Europe but inside, in the heart of the centre of the old
empire. Similarly, the film suggests, the Holocaust is not the last chapter in
European history as long as there is a genocidal war raging in Bosnia and
as long as established, institutionalized racism against ethnic minorities in
western Europe is still thriving.
La Haine opens with a galactic explosion that looks like a meteor
blowing up the earth, but is actually the image of an exploding Molotov
cocktail or a petrol bomb invoking the radical iconography of the revolutionary May 68 cinema, particularly that of Godard. Through this apocalyptic image Kassovitz introduces a powerful visual metaphor of global
catastrophe. Ultimately, La Haine suggests, the internal forces - the anger
and frustration of the wretches of the earth, the poor immigrants and the
ethnic minorities concentrated in the giant postmodern metropoles and
subjected to different manifestations of racism and persecution - will
destroy the planet. The Bosnia within, namely, the ethnic tensions created
by racial intolerance will eventually liquidate the globe. The planet will
annihilate itself rather than be destroyed by external cosmic forces. Racial
tension is presented in La Haine as a social time bomb ready to explode at
any minute. The exclusion and repression of ethnic/racial minorities will
lead, Kassovitz suggests, to the destruction of the social fabric not only of
French society but of the whole western world.
What is the role played by the post-Holocaust Jew in this apocalyptic
vision of the West? And why did Kassovitz choose to align his Jew with
representatives of ethnic minorities who are immigrants? This question

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resonates in debates within the French Jewish community as to its selfperception or definition. Are French Jews immigrants or are they French
Jews? These identity politics assume a great significance in terms of the
relationships between the French national body and the Jewish minority,
as the term immigrant connotes strangeness, foreignness, being outside
of the centre and therefore occupying a less privileged national and civil
space.
This debate resounds in La Haine through a brilliant cinematic demonstration of the ambiguities inherent in the politics of passing. After the
trio leaves Astrixs flat, Sad and Hubert are violently apprehended by
policemen who ask them to show their identity cards. Because of their
dark and black skin Sad and Hubert are immediately marked as immigrants, foreign to the chic area they are in. Vinz, however, wearing his
white mask, is initially not perceived as an outsider by the policemen,
who allow him to pass unnoticed. But when the policemen begin to
suspect that Vinz is related to the other two they begin questioning him
too. Vinz denies any relation to his friends, claiming that he came to visit
his aunt who lives in this bourgeois neighbourhood. When the policemen,
doubting his story, begin to press him harder, Vinz escapes. His denial of
any relation to his two friends as well as his escape save him from the
humiliating interrogation and torture at the police station - which recalls
the famous torture scene from Gillo Pontecorvos La Bataille dAlgers/The
Battle of Algiers (1966), now an icon of Frances colonial trauma - but ultimately fails to save his life. This scene, which also exemplifies the notion of
moral engagement in the tradition of Jean-Paul Sartre, reifies the political
and ethical dilemma confronting Vinz as well as the French Jewish community: where does Jewish alliance and moral responsibility lie? With the
weak and underprivileged, or with the powerful and privileged? Should
Jews pass as white Frenchmen or should they stick with the oppressed
minorities? Should Jews escape in order to save their own skins, or should
they demonstrate their solidarity with the persecuted even at the price of
being harassed and humiliated by the establishment?
Kassovitzs film implicitly suggests that the moral alliance of the Jews,
despite their social mobility and shifting towards the centre of French
society, should be with the underprivileged ethnic minorities, with
Frances and Europes new others who challenge its hegemonic symbols of
traditional national identity. La Haine thus raises fundamental questions
regarding how Jews wish to reconstruct their identities in the new Europe.
Do they want to assimilate into the established culture of the majority
society, or do they wish to identify with the minority or ethnic groups of
the nation state who, particularly in the French case, challenge its republican or civic model? The emergence of the Jewish community in France
is often explained as a post-traumatic reaction of the post-Holocaust Jew
to wartime experience under the Vichy regime. Kassovitzs lesson from
the Holocaust, as my reading of La Haine suggests, seems to be different. La
Haine is, both ostensibly a dystopian text of despair and anger (Sharma
and Sharma 2000: 111), but also a utopian text whose fictional
black/blanc/beur trio implies that in postcolonial France a multi-racial,
multi-ethnic and multi-religious coalition of the oppressed can perhaps

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transcend not only the existing social order and its racist culture, but also
the danger that the victims of past racism (the post-Holocaust Jews) may
become indifferent to the plight of Europes new victims.
References
Boyarin, J. (1992), Storm from Paradise: The Politics of Jewish Memory, Minneapolis:
University of Minnesota Press.
Gilman, S. (1991), The Jews Body, New York and London: Routledge.
Gilroy, P. (1993), The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness, Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press.
Rosello, M. (1998), Declining the Stereotype: Ethnicity and Representation in French
Culture, Hanover, NH and London: University Press of New England.
Sharma, S. and Sharma, A. (2000), So Far So Good...: La Haine and the Poetics
of the Everyday, Theory, Culture and Society, 17: 3, pp. 103-16.
Tarr, C. (1997), Ethnicity and Identity in Mtisse and La Haine by Mathieu
Kassovitz, Multicultural France: Working Papers on Contemporary France, vol. 1,
Portsmouth: University of Portsmouth Press, pp. 40-47.

Suggested citation
Loshitzky, Y. (2005), The post-Holocaust Jew in the age of postcolonialism: La
Haine revisited, Studies in French Cinema 5: 2, pp. 137147,
doi: 10.1386/sfci.5.2.137/1

Contributor details
Until her recent appointment as Professor of Film Studies at the University of East
London, Yosefa Loshitzky was a Leverhulme Trust Professor at University College
London and a Visiting Fellow at the School of Advanced Study, University of
London. She is the author of The Radical Faces of Godard and Bertolucci (1995),
Identity Politics on the Israeli Screen (2001; A Choice Outstanding Academic Title for
2001-02) and the editor of Spielbergs Holocaust: Critical Perspectives on Schindlers
List (1997). She is currently writing a book on Screening Strangers in PostHolocaust Europe and editing a book (based on a conference she is organizing) on
Fortress Europe and Its Others: Cultural Representations and Debates in Film,
Media and the Arts. She has also written extensively on film, media, and culture
for a variety of journals and book anthologies.
E-mail: [email protected]

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