1969, he was well received, but he found out later that he was in danger of
further coercion, manipulation, and possible death. He fled again, to another
exile. Many have passed through similar experiences. Others have suffered
imprisonment and death. Such facts also reveal more about exile as distinct
from expatriatism, hybridity, dislocation, and migration.
Dissidence as exileEven when approached differently, migration greatly depends on the writer’s
own assumptions and actual experience in the adoptive country. This is more
so when set within an ontological perspective, whereby the whole universe is
an enemy or a neutral force, and the writer, left with a sense of negation at one
time or rejection at another, develops throughout some defensive strategies
of thinking and writing that are in keeping with Julia Kristeva’s stance of
dissidence. Her writers-in-exile begin with banishment and conclude with
concordant resistance, for “... exile is already in itself a form of dissidence, since
it involves uprooting oneself from a family, a country or a language.”^51
Willful as this exile sounds, it is purposefully directed toward some pleasur-
able disconnectedness, as “... an irreligious act that cuts all ties” (Ibid.).
Pleasing and deliberate, it fuses into other concepts of intellectual pursuits of
freedom. Whether in keeping with Sainte Beuve, Matthew Arnold, or
J. Benda, the intellectual should resist the arena of politics, maintain disin-
terestedness, and delve into a hermetic quest, for “[o]ur present age is one of
exile,” argues Kristeva (Ibid. 298). Although involving significant notions to
resist hegemonic structures including custom, such formulations as “Writing
is impossible without some kind of exile” (Ibid.), or creativity as nonbelong-
ing, “becoming a stranger to one’s own country, language, sex, and identity”
(Ibid.), tend to fit into the postmodernist quasi-mystical drive for difference
against an overwhelming global cultural takeover. Against this sense, the
language of exile develops symptoms of suffering and rejection, for it, accord-
ing to Kristeva, “muffles a cry, it doesn’t ever shout” (Ibid.). As a language of
dissidence, exilic discourse evolves as the only speech act that never shies away
from unmediated defiance, opposition, and negation at large. After all, no loss
could be greater than the one already suffered. Indeed, writing in exile can
never escape its gnawing despair. It is worthwhile to quote Ma.mnd Darwlsh
again, for in his “Rubm‘iyymt” the universe becomes an inventory of loss, which
can be alleviated only through the doves’ songs that are similar to his own:
I’ve seen all I want to see of the sea:
gulls flying through sunset.
I close my eyes:
this loss leads to Andalusia—
this sail is doves’ prayers
pouring down on me.^52ENVISIONING EXILE