Algeria from Within/Chapter 6

The administration of any country to a foreigner is always rather incomprehensible, but the manner in which Algeria is administered by the French is more than a surprise.

It is not our duty to criticize the method of government of this country, and let it be said at once that, strange as the method may seem, the results are admirable.

To the uninitiated, Algeria is a colony such as Kenya or the Gold Coast, with a Governor and all the general system of working dominions beyond the seas. But, though the country is administered by a Governor-General, he does not, as might be supposed, depend on the Colonial Office, neither do any of his reports pass through the hands of the Colonial Secretary. His tenure of office is, moreover, most uncertain, and he is only appointed for a period of six months at a time, renewable at the end of each period, and this appointment is made by the Home Office (Ministère de l’Intérieur) in Paris, under whose jurisdiction he is.

At first this contradiction of things seems hard to understand, and one is forced to penetrate further into the inner workings of Algeria to understand. In the first place, North Africa—with the exception of Tunisia and Morocco, which are protectorates—is ​divided into three departments, with practically the same organization as in France. That is to say, each department sends to the Parliament in Paris one senator and two deputies, who are elected by the French inhabitants of the country and by those Arabs who have opted for French nationality.

These departments have their préfets and sous-préfets, as in France, and the towns their mayors, with the municipal council, juges de paix, commissaires de police, etc. Thus up to this point the system of administration in the three departments is identical with that in the mother country.

The first slight difference we come upon is in the case of what are known as communes mixtes. These centers are those where the Arab population is in excess of the French. In this case the mayor is replaced by an administrateur. The area covered by the jurisdiction of this individual is much larger than the commune under the mayor, and comprises numerous douars, or native villages. The administrateur, who wears a vague uniform, something between that of an officer and a lion-tamer, is trained specially for his post. He is assisted in his duties by an administrateur adjoint and by a commission municipale. This commission municipale is composed partly of Frenchmen elected in the area of the commune mixte, and partly of Arabs belonging to the various douars, who are appointed by the Governor-General. The caïds and other Arab chiefs—of whom we will speak later—assist the administrateur as his agents in their respective areas.

The administrateur himself has certain powers of jurisdiction over Arabs, but all those who are French citizens have recourse to the ordinary civil power.

This, therefore, in a few words is the system of administration of Algeria proper, and it would all ​seem quite simple if we did not suddenly come face to face with the Governor-General. Here, in the midst of all this peaceful organization associated with the Great Revolution, we have Monsieur Le Gouverneur-Général, with his summer palace, his staff, his aides-de-camp, naval and military, flying the tricolor on his motor-car, while the guard turns out and presents arms. What has he to do with all the senators and deputies and préfets?

The answer is simple. For all practical purposes, nothing. He himself may be a French senator with his seat in the upper chamber; at the end of six months he may become a minister or he may be politely dismissed. And how often has the post of Governor-General of Algeria been held by some high functionary not wanted in France, or by one who is merely biding his time to take office again. The Governor-General, therefore, unless he be a man of exceptional value, can not really do very much for or against the welfare of the country, and the most important duties therefore devolve on a permanent official known as the Secrétaire Général du Gouvernement.

This gentleman—though he is usually not a man of great ambition, otherwise he would not be in this thankless post—has a great working knowledge of the country and its people, and it is he who keeps his superior in touch with all that is going on. But even he has nothing to do with the French civil administration, which belongs entirely to France.

On the other hand, there are three assemblies over which the Governor presides and which carry out on their own account a certain amount of the administration of the country. They are the Conseil du Gouvernement, dealing chiefly with the building of new villages, making of roads and railways, and generally ​opening up the colony; the Délégations Financières, composed of French colonists, French taxpayers, and a certain number of well-to-do Arabs. These financial delegates discuss the budget for Algeria, which incidentally, and contradictorily, is independent of France, as is also the Bank of Algeria, which prints its own banknotes. Finally we have the Conseil Supérieur composed of twenty-two members: the Procureur-Général, the Admiral, the préfets and a few Arabs of importance who meet once a year under the presidency of the Governor-General to vote the budget for Algeria.

But even here the Parliament in Paris is afraid of letting the wretched colony look after itself, and it insists upon ratifying the budget, without knowing anything about it.

Algeria, therefore, is not a colony, but part of France, administered in the same way as any French department, but under the care of the Governor-General appointed by the Home Office, who is all-powerful without having any real authority at all. The communes are French or mixtes; the Arabs have a certain say in the government, but not much; the budget is separate, but under the scrutiny of the Palais Bourbon.

All this seems complicated enough, but the mystery is not over—it deepens as we leave the northern districts of Algeria and move south. We have now seen the rôles of the various functionaries in the three departments of Constantine, Alger and Oranie, and we must turn to the area known as the Territoires du Sud.

The actual boundary between the departments and ​these southern territories varies somewhat, but it can be said roughly that anywhere two hundred miles from the coast one has passed out of civil control and into military. Thence these territories stretch away across the Sahara until the Niger is reached—great, open spaces with small fertile points where there is water. All this waste land is also under the Governor-General and his permanent staff in Algiers. There is one slight difference. Whereas if he were to make a speech to the townsfolk of some smiling vine center near Algiers he must ask the Secrétaire-Général for the necessary data to address the multitudes, in the south he applies to the Directeur des Territoires du Sud. This functionary, who is often intelligent, has an enviable post, and if he is interested in the Great South, with its strange people, he can make a study under very advantageous circumstances. Here again, however, we have an anomaly, for, though the Directeur des Territoires du Sud is responsible for their order, his administrators are all soldiers and the country south of the civil territory is under the strictest form of martial law. A little explanation on the system of government will perhaps make matters clearer.

The southern areas are divided into what are known as Cercles Militaires, and they may cover an area of one hundred square miles. The Cercle is under a colonel and is subdivided into annexes, each under a captain, who is responsible to the colonel for his area. There are a number of officers attached to these annexes, all specially trained in their duties—in fact, from the colonel down, all the staff have passed through the school of the affaires indigènes and have spent practically all their life in the south. For the future we will refer to the military administration as the Bureau Arabe, the name under which it goes in the ​south. To all intents and purposes the Bureau Arabe is all-powerful. Fines, fatigues, prison for all persons not having a European status are entirely in its hands. The court-martial convened has the power of life and death over the same category of persons; only Europeans and naturalized Arabs can appeal to the civil courts. The rule is harsh, sometimes unjust—it depends on the staff of the Bureau Arabe. The military in the various cases are commanded by regimental officers who have really nothing to do with the Bureau Arabe; they are just in the garrison as they might be in Algiers or Marseilles. But if the head of the annexe requires them for any administrative or punitive purpose they are at his disposal.

A flock of sheep disappears, the owner complains, and, if he is considered sufficiently important to take notice of, a section of spahis is sent off to trace the flock. Some one has to be ejected from his house—an N.C.O. and four tirailleurs carry out the unpleasant duty.

Unless an Arab carries a great deal of weight he is helpless if the Bureau Arabe decides against him. Apart from this, however, the chief of the annexe has other more peaceful and useful duties. He has all the functions of the mayor to perform, and is surrounded by a municipal council. These worthies—who are partly Arabs, partly French and partly Jews—vote silly laws such as traffic regulations for the non-existent vehicles. They decide whether the main street shall be painted green or gold; they vote money to repair the roof of the colonel’s house. Their most important function is the distribution of water in the oasis. This, as will be explained in a later chapter, is a question of life and death in the long Sahara summer, and it requires infinite care to arrange it all. But, apart from this, the municipal ​council does little, and, though the Chef d’Annexe occasionally performs a civil marriage, the law and order of the Great South rests in the hands of the military.

I use the word order purposely, as it is through their presence that we can travel safely over those magnificent roads which they also have made across the rolling plains. For, though justice is sometimes miscarried, there is little chance of the bandit escaping if he commits highway robbery or murder on the roads of the Bureau Arabe.

These are, therefore, the pros and cons, and let it be said for these colonels and captains who have spent all the best years of their lives in the Sahara, that they are confronted by great difficulties, and that until the day when the Arab is emancipated and set on the same footing as his conquerors, the only method by which an end can be achieved is severity.

So far it will seem that we have left the realm of complication and entered that of straightforward government. A mere illusion.

Living in the same town and almost next door to the Bureau Arabe, we find the Juge de Paix, the Notaire, and the Commissaire de Police. What the first two can do to justify their existence is beyond the imagination. The Commissaire has functions which he exercises, but which seem quite unnecessary, as in all his actions he is entirely paralyzed by the Bureau Arabe.

For instance, if some petty crime is committed he can investigate it, but he can not condemn without the authority of the Chef d’Annexe. If one requires a gun-license one has to apply to the Commissaire de Police, but he must go to the Bureau Arabe to get it. He is in charge of the few native policemen who wander about the oases in search of crime and bribes, ​but, though the prison is next door to his office, it is guarded by the military.

It is all the same curious system which causes the Governor-General’s powers—extending across the Sahara, to the verge of Central Africa—to depend on the Home Office in Paris.

Moreover, we have not yet finished with all these different forms of administration, and in the next chapter I shall try to explain how the native functionaries aid in the government of the country.