The White Man's Burden
<s>Breme bijelog čovjeka (The White Man's Burden, 1899) je pjesma koju je napisao Rudyard Kipling za vrijeme Filipinsko-američkog rata (1899–1902).</s><s>Kiplingove riječi nagone Sjedinjene Države da preuzmu kontrolu nad Filipincima ne bi li ih izbavili iz barbarstva.</s><s>Naravno tekst je neprestano citiran od strane europskih i američkih konzervativaca kada je riječ o kolonijalizmu i kada je nužno opravdati razne osvajačke ratove koji inače imaju ekonomsku osnovu.</s><s>Ukratko, »breme koje snosi bijeli čovjek« su cjelina napora i muka što Zapadnjaci podnose pri osvajanju, obrazovanju »divljih naroda« i ulaganju za njihovo bolje životno stanje.</s><s>Kipling u pjesmi melankolično ističe kako ishod tih »dobronamjernih« nevolja bijelog čovjeka je uvijek neuspješan.</s><s>No pri kraju 19. stoljeća kolonijalizam je bio način na koji su europske države tražile nova tržišta a uz to i natjecale se za geopolitičku hegemoniju.</s><s>Istovremeno put prema koloniji je bio način na koji su vladajuće klase olakšavale unutarnji socijalni pritisak koji im je inače prijetio revolucijom.</s><s>Opravdanje kolonijalizma se ovdje oslanja na teoriji liberalizma i na nasleđu prosvjetiteljstva, što je očigledno slučaj Kiplingove pjesme.</s>

<s>Tekst pjesme na engleskom
Take up the White Man's burden —
Send forth the best ye breed —
Go bind your sons to exile
To serve your captives' need;
To wait in heavy harness
On fluttered folk and wild —
Your new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half devil and half child.</s>

<s>Take up the White Man's burden —
In patience to abide,
To veil the threat of terror
And check the show of pride;
By open speech and simple,
An hundred times made plain.</s><s>To seek another's profit,
And work another's gain.</s>

<s>Take up the White Man's burden —
The savage wars of peace —
Fill full the mouth of Famine 
And bid the sickness cease;
And when your goal is nearest
The end for others sought,
Watch Sloth and heathen Folly
Bring all your hopes to nought.</s>

<s>Take up the White Man's burden —
No tawdry rule of kings,
But toil of serf and sweeper —
The tale of common things.</s><s>The ports ye shall not enter,
The roads ye shall not tread,
Go make them with your living,
And mark them with your dead!</s>

<s>Take up the White Man's burden —
And reap his old reward:
The blame of those ye better,
The hate of those ye guard —
The cry of hosts ye humour
(Ah, slowly!) toward the light: —
"Why brought ye us from bondage,
Our loved Egyptian night?"</s>

<s>Take up the White Man's burden —
Ye dare not stoop to less
Nor call too loud on Freedom
To cloak your weariness;
By all ye cry or whisper,
By all ye leave or do,
The silent, sullen peoples
Shall weigh your Gods and you.</s>

<s>Take up the White Man's burden —
Have done with childish days —
The lightly proffered laurel,
The easy, ungrudged praise.</s><s>Comes now, to search your manhood
Through all the thankless years,
Cold-edged with dear-bought wisdom,
The judgment of your peers!</s>

<s>Vanjske veze</s>

<s>Izvori</s>

<s>Bibliografija</s>

<s>Engleska književnost
Pjesme 1899.</s><s>Djela Rudyarda Kiplinga
Imperijalizam
Kolonijalizam</s>

