One of the many paradoxes that apply to life living abroad in France: To open a bank account, you first need an address. But to have an address, you must first have a bank account. The search lasted a little under a month and luckily for us, classes had not yet started. Our owner was a lovely French lady who lived and worked in the southwest of France in Bordeaux. We were fortunate because, although she required the same documentation that other owners had, she was much more lenient with the fact that we were foreigners. I’ll touch on this here shortly. I had been able to secure a French guarantor through building relationships with people from the Sorbonne following my first year which was how I ultimately secured housing my second year.
Throughout the search, you’ll come to find out that your nationality (i.e., your passport) can either work for you or against you. This is the case for many countries. As an international student registered under a non-EU passport, more often than not, this can likely go against you[i]. This was the case in my first-year housing search. Although widely dispersed around the city and in the nearby Parisian suburbs, French university dorms, largely provided by the CROUS[ii], were usually conveniently located close to public transport. This was a major plus for students on a budget like myself. However, there were two major obstacles (disguised as one) I faced here in my housing search. One was national, the other financial. I would learn over the course of my searches prior to my first year that the CROUS required that applicants have a French guarantor making at least two to three times more than the monthly rent. These two items, nationality and finances, are the most important in your file and in the case that you did not meet both of these requirements, your application would be rejected. This rather explicitly favors French citizens of a relatively high class standing. There are cases where this can be offset as an exchange student as the CROUS works with foreign institutions to reserve housing for its incoming international students. But as a direct enrollment[iii] student applying directly to the Sorbonne, as was my case, I wasn’t afforded this perk and therefore had to go in alone. The same goes traditionally for off-campus housing. Being born in France is also a plus here as applicants must show proof of a guarantor with a permanent French address. Even where understandable, the nationalism can be a huge turnoff and be quite frustrating for the foreign student who has no official ties to Europe or to a university back home. France, a country proud of its rich history, culture, and language, which they want to safeguard from ‘outsiders’ (especially English speakers), can make the search unsurprisingly challenging as a non-native. In an international city like Paris however, the nationalism, although still prevalent, decreases even if only slightly. This is important. Our search, being three foreign students—one American and two Chinese guys— took us through different neighborhoods in and around Paris all via the internet at first. I found our would-be owner’s listing in the 15th on a site called Leboncoin, one of the most popular and widely used in France. It is likened to Craigslist here back home being a generally classified site where you can find just about anything listed on sale. There are tons of resources out there when it comes to housing however. Be sure to use every resource out there whether through a particular site (e.g., appartager.fr, pap.fr, etc.) or through private Facebook groups like the American expats in Paris or PARIS: Location appartement, Colocation, Sous-location chambre à louer. Do not be afraid to ask around as this can sometimes be the difference between living in the city with all of the amenities it affords or living outside of it. Notes: [i] Money can sometimes make up for this but not always. [ii] CROUS or Centre regional des oeuvres universitaires et scolaires is a regional organization responsible notably for providing housing and dining services to students. [iii] Direct enrollment refers to students who apply and enroll directly in a foreign institution and therefore pay fees directly to the school. This is opposed to a traditional exchange where students apply to a program through their host institution or a 3rd party provider such as CIEE and CIS abroad.
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I have been wanting to write this follow up piece to the prologue of Life in the 15th for some time now so I’m glad that I’m finally taking the time to do so now. Life in Paris, as in any city, has its advantages and disadvantages. At the end of the day, when choosing to live in any place for an extended period of time, the best thing one can do is to fully weigh the opportunity costs, both good and bad, respectable and less so, and arrive at the best possible outcome. And even then, you still may wind up reflecting on whether it was the right decision in the end. I’ll begin by reiterating a common fact about living in or in close proximity to any global city or metropolis. The cost of living can often times be an uphill battle in making life possible in the city. For obvious and sometimes less obvious reasons it can be an uncompromisingly expensive slap in the face to those less fortunate individuals from the waiter or waitress to the caregiver, or single parent with multiple kids. Factually, this only intensifies the closer one gets to the city’s core. The conceptual global city brings with it money and also opportunity as we know. Yet, however limited or unlimited the opportunities the city may seem to offer are—depending on one’s point of view—one thing is for certain is that the space within its limits is not. It bears mentioning that many students who attend or wish to attend universities in major cities like Paris, London, and New York amongst others, are faced with the particular concern of how to get a degree and not lose your limbs in the process. This was no different in my case as a master’s student looking to make ends meet in the French capital. My first year I taught English and lived not in Paris but in a suburb 30 miles outside of the city. This brought with it its own inconveniences. The entire first year I remember having to walk from the apartment where I lived in the city to the Mantes-la-Jolie train station which was about 20 minutes give or take. From here, I would take the 30–40-minute express train into the Paris Saint Lazare station (see Bienvenue au Zoo post) in the 8th*. This was not always the case because if I arrived late or at the inopportune time at the station, I could wind up being forced to take the hour-long train into Saint Lazare and in some, but rare cases, the hour and a half long train into the Montparnasse train station. This also brought with it, it’s advantages and disadvantages. It was the cheaper option to live here in Mantes, but this made for an incredibly long and taxing commute time from home to school and back again. On the other hand, it was also rewarding because were it not for this experience, I would never have seen this other part of Paris. Mantes is one of many suburbs the media rarely talk about. When they do, it’s not often positive. For this and other reasons, Mantes would become the location for my eventual fieldwork. The point is it wasn’t by any means an ideal place to live as a student going to school in Paris. Notes *8th: refers to the 8th arrondissement in Paris. "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man [or individual], then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast." – Ernest Hemingway, A moveable feast (1950) I cannot say that I ever fathomed the idea of living in Paris one day, a city so active, lively, and energetic; important. Paris was and remains a city in constant flow; busy. I was nowhere near as lively and energetic as the rues (roads) and avenues leading to the central squares, or Places of the Opéra, Madeleine, République, Vendôme and la Bastille. I too was busy, but incomparably so to the shops in and around the Champs [Élysées], the cafés and boardwalks of the Quartier Latin (Latin quarter), or the nightlife attributed to Pigalle, Oberkampf or les Marais. Given the stark contrast between life in Atlanta and here, I was not sure how I’d adapt to this unfamiliar world. Although cities of this size tend to offer the opportunity to stand out, I liked the feeling that Paris offered a kind of relative anonymity. I had already been fond of the idea of being unknown everywhere I went. I suppose it was this anonymity in feeling like a small fish in a big pond, that made Paris in the end, all the more attractive and alluring as a city to live. For all its grandeur, it was cool to be able to step outside and always know that your chances of running into someone you knew, although likely, in my case, was super rare. It was like being in New York abroad. Whether loitering on the streets, gathering in the metro or waiting on the next bus, I hardly knew anyone’s name or recognized anyone’s countenance, and no one in return hardly knew or recognized mine. I liked it this way. It was also cool as an American to say you lived in Paris, especially to other Americans tourists visiting the city. In spite of the anonymity though, I cannot say that I ever felt entirely out of place. This was of course largely circumstantial based on where in the city I found myself on any given day . What I do know though is that living in Paris was like reading a new chapter in a story or reading a new book entirely where, with each passing day, new characters were being introduced, the plot always changing. Every day taking bus transit via the RATP for instance, I never saw the same driver and scarcely the same passengers, and I liked it that way too. There was always someone or something new to encounter. Perhaps others had had the same feeling either as locals--long-standing or newly-arrived--or as tourists. In Paris and many big cities like it, people dare to be individuals (i.e., themselves), because there is not the constant pressure of having to fit in, of being scrutinized at every street corner. This is what I enjoyed most of all. Again, I know this to be a fact for most big cities, but it didn’t take away from the amusement of it all. I wanted to see what my own “moveable feast” would be like, what it could become. Little did I know, my life as a transient Parisian would end up proving to be a timely metaphor for finding my place in the world. "You can take the child out of the country, my elders were fond of saying, but you can’t take the country out of the child". - James Baldwin, Nobody knows my name
The owner then finished on a note upon hence he wanted to know why America was racist. Or perhaps, why had America grappled with it to the extent that it had, compared to other countries ? It was a complex question which itself, stemmed from his explaining to me—although I was the American—the conditions of the economically disadvantaged which, in his mind, were ultimately responsible for Obama’s white house nomination. I could have responded but decided to listen instead. I’ve found that one better understands his or her own country outside of that country which one calls home, whereby people from another country with a different set of rules and pretenses are the only one's capable of imposing upon on you that true feeling of being what we call an American (and vice versa). The more he came to understand France, the less he could understand me, as I had before could not understand myself in my own country, and felt that to leave would be the only way I could exist. But the more I had been forced to come to understand France, by living here, the more I wanted to understand the country from which I came. Alas, what was really happening was that we had both been prisoners of separate but all to similar social realities where in one color and race did not exist, whilst in the other, it was all one pointed to. As much as I had tried to escape this prison, along with it's fabrications responsible for my creation and my existence, I tried to embrace the fallacies of another, only to realize that I was still a prisoner of the former. And even if I was to manage to escape, I would find out that I was stepping into the confinement of another kind of society. And contrary to [Richard] Wright, one whose work I highly admonish and esteem, I remained trapped by the mere fact that color was the only thing that I could see, and no society professing to be “colorblind” could prevent me from seeing as such. What would the store owner’s reactions or questions have been like if I happened to be an American with a different background ? Would he have then have focused more attention on Trump or made no reference to politics at all ? P.S. These questions may or may not be relevant or be the right ones, but they were the ones which came to mind not long after this exchange. "You can take the child out of the country, my elders were fond of saying, but you can’t take the country out of the child". - James Baldwin, Nobody knows my name (1961)
Part 1- reconciling Blackness? or reconciling blackness? I had only eaten a banana that morning as I was on my way to the American Library in Paris, a base for work that I was becoming quite fond since paying my subscription last spring. The usual route from where I was temporarily staying, nearby Denfert Rochereau, consisted of a hop onto line 6 from Denfert to Dupleix, and then a short walk from the Dupleix station to the 42 bus stop which would take me to Montessuy, just around the corner from the library. On the way, my hunger now unbearable from earlier that morning, I wound up in a convenience store just past the bus stop. I stepped in, peered around a bit and then attempted to make eye contact with the store owner who made no attempt back, and so I kept on about my merry way. Taking little to no time at all, I approached the counter and hastily placed down my items and money, now with no desire to spark up a conversation, itching to get to the library so that I could actually get some work done. Contrary to what I initially assumed to be true, he ended up greeting me with an unanticipated bonjour jeune homme (hello young man), and just at the end of the transaction asked if I was either from Senegal or Morocco. Senegal I could maybe see, but Morocco was a new one I had never gotten before, ever. Despite my inclination to want to respond affirmatively, I told him no, which peaked his curiosity as to which part of the planet I had actually came from. When I let out that I was American, he seemed to be befuddled but all the while elated, both of which he clearly could not help but to express. On the one, he responded that it wasn’t possible that I was American to which I could only smirk and wonder how so ? And on the other, he and his what I believe to be friend of his or frequent customer, could not help but to make a gesture towards the Obama bobblehead figure perched in the corner of a display just beside the doorway. He then wasted no time in asking whether or not I was a student here to which I said yes. As if he and his comrade were not already flustered and in disbelief, I decided to add that I was studying at the Sorbonne. « And even more so the Sorbonne! It’s incredible that you’re studying there, considering that there aren’t a lot of blacks who do ». I couldn’t disagree, this was true. He apparently saw what I saw, and I am not even sure he was looking for it. Firstly, this wasn’t exactly something that I was proud, but more so ashamed of. And second, I believe it has very little if anything to do with blacks not wanting to study there and everything to do with a society which refuses to acknowledge "us" as capable of not only going there but being able to study and succeed there. What we must ask ourselves is, are they solely not given the opportunities to go to the best schools simply because of where they live in Paris, due in part to the negative stigmas attached to these areas? And even by answering this, it doesn’t get to the heart of the matter. What is really is at stake is an even deeper question—social, cultural, religious, racial even—that most are afraid to ask, Why is it that people live where they live, live with whom they live, study where they study, work where they work, hang out with whom they hang out with, and marry whom they marry? And even more dangerous a question, is it possible to analyze and link all of the answers to these questions to primarily social and class factors as has always been the case in France? “I had never listened to Bessie Smith in America (in the same way that, for years, I never touched watermelon), but in Europe she helped me to reconcile myself to being a ‘nigger’ ” James Baldwin, Nobody Knows my name (1961).
The idea for this two part piece, by no coincidence, stemmed from the text I had been reading by James Baldwin, Nobody knows my name: More notes of a native son (1961). I stumbled across this work wanting to get more into Baldwin during my time frequenting the American Library in Paris and purchasing a student subscription. I felt it was an extreme privilege to be able to immerse myself fully in such a space particularly as someone who was becoming more of an avid reader of books despite not having grown up the same way. After reading the first essay, "The Discovery of what it means to be an American" in the first chapter of Baldwin's book, I felt that there was a lot to be said about my own personal experience living in France, albeit sixty years on give or take. Let alone, there was quite a lot to say prior to reading this book as well, but I was not sure how to precisely communicate it. And so this is my attempt to do so. Although being black and from Atlanta, I had never truly fit the description. I had never truly fit the mold of what most Americans felt I should be, and what most French people were expecting me to be. On top of not already feeling "black" or being accepted as such back home, as a result of many confusing social and cultural experiences, this compounded to what I thought was a major identity crisis. Growing up, I had never truly been an avid listener, much less a connoisseur, of rap and hip hop back in the states. Much of this had to do with growing up in the church, where most hip hop was considered both inappropriate and void of any moral muse. Music in general however, leading up to Paris and today still, has always been very important in every chapter of my life. In my mind at least, back in high school and early years as a student in college, I had always been the odd one out in the music arena compared to others who looked like me. Despite this, I still felt I had a fairly good ear for whatever genre, other than hip hop. In France, it surprised people that they admittedly knew more than I had, even about hip hop in the South where I came from. More than wanting to change for people, over time of just feeling lost, and due to a few experiences of cultural "awakening" back home and abroad, I wanted to equally understand the origins and evolution of black culture, something which I had never come to fully embrace back home or perhaps could not given my sheltered upbringing. And so through discovery, and over time, in Europe and not back home, American hip hop, juxtaposed alongside French in all its various sounds and 'scapes' (i.e., geographies), became my Bessie Smith. Over the course of my two years as a graduate student, I created a Spotify playlist and would become familiar with a range of artists shaping the tradition. This included the New York hip hop collectives Wu-Tang Clan and A Tribe Called Quest to the western infused narratives invoked in the rhymes of Dr. Dre, Ice Cube, and Kendrick. While blackness represents so much more than these artists, their respective upbringings and geographies, it did however relay a part of the culture I had never fully come to terms with and had yet to fully understand. And so this attempts to rectify that amongst other experiences whereby, for instance, I met a Moroccan man, and through his quite oxymoronic question, made me aware of how little I truly knew about a significant part of black culture. These exchanges of course do not tell the whole story, nor did they resolve this, but they attempt to resolve a lot of the unspoken internalized conflicts that I'd been confronted with and attempting to reconcile since my time working as a gallery assistant at the Center for Civil and Human Rights back home in Atlanta. To be continued, as there is much reconciling that remains, yet, in the same light as Fanon in Black Skin White Masks conveys, "the black soul [is nothing more than a] construction of the white man". So what then indeed is blackness? What are its limits? Where does it start and where and how can we, more importantly, possibly see to its end? The zoo is in my opinion one of the byproducts of the Parisian delusion. The delusion derives itself from the idea that the city is deceptively masked in elegance. Coming into the city on the way to school, I noticed the phrase, "Bienvenue O Zoo" (Welcome to the zoo), etched into the walls of the Saint Lazare train station, my usual and most frequent route into and out of the city. What was the artist attempting to communicate in this particular message? In my own experience, the zoo could represented many things: chaos, disorder, or the complexity of the urban experience. This is almost true however of most major cities. The language element only further exacerbated this idea. In my mind, this phrase painted a pretty vivid image of daily life in France. The metro filled to the brim with commuters on lines 4 and 5 to the extent that one can’t even see their own two feet. The frenzy and disarray of Chatelet Les Halles gives the impression of being caught on the wrong side of a stampede as one frantically weaves their in and out of the onslaught of commuters, hoping not to trample or be trampled in the process. And the language, again, intensified all of this to the point sometimes, of confusion. In that sense, I liken it to a jungle where this is an appearance of order on the surface but something more disheveled beneath. Paris, just as any major city, can leave one feeling displaced and disoriented. It has taken me awhile for example, to adapt. The zoo for me, represents not only the diversity that can be seen in the various arrondissements which give off the appearance of a true zoo with various species sectioned off into different spatial enclosures, but it also suggested a certain sense of adaptation where the fittest or most adaptable, as in most cases, survive. Survival in the "zoo" or then is highly dependent on one's place in the order. I would come to discover that that order did not seem entirely different or foreign to the one I had grown up in back in the states. Photo. Graffiti Saint Lazare Train station: Raymond J. 2018
t Just last summer, before heading out to Paris for my soon to be expat adventure, I took in as many podcasts as I could to help prepare me for what I imagined would be the hardest academic year of my life. Why so many you ask ? All my classes would be in French, and I needed to be more than just simply ready. And so that couple of months leading up to September were a mixture of feelings somewhere between anxiousness and distress. My brain could not fully register the amount of French that that same anxiety and stress were forcing it to consume.
The previous year, my family had suffered a major setback which would eventually lead my mom to being temporarily relocated to a healthcare facility in a quaint southern town in the heart of the state. I was not very enthusiastic about the drive, but it was half of my world that would soon be down there in Sparta, Georgia. It was a good two hours away and so I decided to take full advantage. At the time, I was still working at the Center for Civil and Human Rights and had recently finished an interview with the Radio France Internationale (RFI), who were working on a podcast of their own, titled « Black American Dream ». Ms Celine Mazurelle, who interviewed me, was a travel journalist based in Paris, working for the RFI. She discovered through thorough conversation, that I planned to be in Paris studying that fall, and so she recommended I listen to a podcast they had done on the Sorbonne, a long-time objective of mine. So on the way down to Sparta, I decided to take a listen. Her podcast, Si Loin, Si Proche, translated literally to, "So Far, So Close" in English, wound up being my go to before the potential move. The podcast covered the 1956 premier congrès des écrivains et artistes noirs, a title which did register with my brain that summer. After listening all the way through a couple times, the city somehow felt even more real and within arms reach. I felt that I too, like countless others who had come before me, could conjure up a new life—from little to nothing—ripe with opportunity, just as my predecessors had. Josephine Baker made a name for herself in the dance halls and on the stages of Pigalle. Baldwin and Wright debated in the famous cafe’s in Saint-Germain. Miles Davis and others musicians showcased their musical talents as jazzmen in the Grande Halle de la Villette. Chester Himes followed his heart and had written police stories in this city. And Angela Davis even graced the same halls that I would have the possibility to grace at the Sorbonne. I wanted, and felt, that I had to be apart of this new narrative that was no longer rife with the longing to escape a home blacks could never truly call their own. I on the other hand, had the privilege to make the choice contrary to their pre-meditated escape plans from the overt Jim Crow south or the covert backbiting north. As expected, this foresight and newfound knowledge helped to paint a never before seen picture of a different life across the Atlantic. I felt an empowerment to prove to myself that I could make the jump not only across continents, but from a school relatively unknown, to one recognized by many. Sources : - http://www.rfi.fr/emission/20170710-etats-unis-black-american-dream-luther-king-noirs-afro-americains-episode-1 - http://www.rfi.fr/emission/loin-proche - http://www.rfi.fr/emission/20160920-premier-congres-intellectuels-noirs-paris-une-rencontre-historique TV, music, internet, and school. These four things have been my kryptonite in forging the imagined beliefs, attitudes, stereotypes and representations I had about Paris. True or not, as a high school student dreaming of the opportunity to eventually study abroad one day -- in France most likely -- I needed a frame of reference. I desperately needed something I could take ahold of before I went overseas. At least temporarily. Looking back now, I can only recall the go to French films shown in American high schools during my generation that helped maximize my French learning as much as possible (rofl!), like Ratatouille and Amélie (special mention to Rugrats in Paris, but then again, maybe not). Once in college, I first listened to Christophe Mae's Parce qu'on sait jamais, Soprano, Corneille, and Stromae. Come to find out, most French people I've met think *Chrisophe Mae (*see below in footnotes) is trash. Accordingly, Christophe had to go, and my spotify has since been updated with a more reassuring playlist. Vices aside, these portrayals in film and musical lyrics shaped my ideas and beliefs about parisians and their city. Unreasonable ? Maybe. Absurd ? Perhaps. But whether fabricated or not they were the only impressions I had. Again to reiterate, at least temporarily..
Cliché views of an American about life in Paris or France (Before) : With the inclusion of these references and others unmentioned, Paris was and is still often represented by Americans as boasting (random order in terms of importance) :
As for myself and my personal experiences here in France, this would be my third and counting. The previous two I spent in cities located a couple of hours away from Paris back in 2012 and 2014-2015 (Expanding our knowledge of France outside of just Paris, YES, just what we Americans need ! Tours, FR and *Angers, FR. Look them up right now if you're American and reading this and never have been to France ! Seriously, I mean it !). Now, I find myself actually in Paris. Or not far. Well sort of. Anyways, here's a brief list of what I CAN say is true of these cultural clichés, although not in an obsessive way, like our television sets so often like to depict. Cliché but TRUE views about life in Paris and France :
I think the waiter issue, to be honest, is one that is much more complex than waiters actually wanting to intentionally be rude. Maybe a tourist thing, this I have yet to figure out. Anyways, if you end up in Paris one day, you'll come to the realization fairly quickly I imagine, that the parisian narrative is more than just simply bread, cheese, wine, the eiffel tower and sex (not sure about that last one though). You also may become quickly aware of another stereotypical but true observation, the all too familiar parisian ego. Impossible not to. So whose to blame ? I don't think we should really go pointing fingers at anyone specific person or group to be quite honest, as we're all guilty for promulgating these stereotypes and sometimes imaginary perceptions of space, place, and the people that define them. My point being, whether in Paris or in Atlanta, when you travel, you always run the risk of disenchantment. Why ? Because although we remembered our canon or our nikon, we forgot to zoom out on our camera lens. Or perhaps it's completely out of focus. Or perhaps even worse, both. So we miss things. Things we could only have seen if we had just managed to be a bit more open, without always needing to have a set game plan or set expectations. I will admit though that I may not be the best one to give advice in this situation. First, because I have traveled little compared to others, despite what you may presume or believe. Second, I sincerely believe that everyone travels differently. And third, I don't have a canon or a nikon, only an iPhone 6S with limited zoom and focus. Jokes aside, when I travel I do try to be as open to the unexpected as possible. I'm a black kid from Atlanta, Powder Springs to be exact. And now I'm in Paris at the Sorbonne. The iPhone will do for now, I think I have the openness thing covered. Footnotes : *I realize that I may be taking a risk saying this and may lose some vital friendships in the process but I sort of listened to this guy (Christophe Maé) religiously when in college. Only excuse, he was unique, and I actually did sorta liked his voice. *I say French here intentionally to mean that for most Americans who have no remote interest in France or who have never been, Paris IS France. *Not pronounced as you see it. This city has much less angry people in it than Paris does I assure you. No relation to the adjective describing an emotion based on discontent. Therefore correct pronunciation is Onjay. Maybe ?? That's the best way I can describe it... *Croissants and baguettes for that matter are examples of French words that have been anglicized to the point of no return. So much so and incorrectly at that, in a bakery in the U.S. if you see something that looks like a pain au chocolat, just request that you would like a chocolate croissant. It's what the label will read in Starbucks or other coffee shops for instance. Of course, being here it's easy to know that it is not at all the same, but for us Americans, trust me when I say that there is no difference, especially southerners. When asking the average American what pops into their mind when they think of France, croissant is top 3. Automatic. Easy. "[...] il n'y a rien de plus exaspérant que de s'entendre dire: "Depuis quand êtes vous en France? Vous parlez bien le français." - Frantz Fanon, Peau Noire Masques Blancs
The fact is that the European has a set idea of the black man, and there is nothing more exasperating than to hear: “How long have you lived in France? You speak such good French.” (Fanon, 18) - On Fanon, Language, and Racism, Black Skin White Masks ------ In the case of many Western European countries, colonialism and neo-colonialist practices have resulted in the migration of many Africans south of the Sahara to places like France, England, Belgium, Portugal and Germany (to a lesser extent). So whether Senegal, Nigeria, or Angola, these and other formerly colonized nations find themselves amongst the most widely represented amongst immigrant populations in Europe. When African Americans like myself, find ourselves in a position to be able to travel abroad to Europe, we are often perceived as minorities not only by default by white society, but also by these various black communities -- because we are not African -- the perfect case of belonging being as much a sociological and cultural one as a racial and ethnic one. Therefore, my starter question is this, if you've been in this position and have traveled abroad to Europe, Is the African-American experience in dealing with racism different than the African experience in these same countries ? Does the American label help natives look past your "blackness" ? Or the reverse, if you happen to be African, whatever your nationality, and live in the states, how is the experience different from that of the typical black American experience, if at all ? In the case of what I will talk about below, it's not so much views from whites in France as it is overall views from the whole of French society in relation to the black experience. I speak for for those of who have traveled little...not for all. And because that would still be painting a broad brush, I just want to talk about my personal experience being in France as an African American. Upon my arrival, I knew that I would be faced with certain realities that others would not be because I was black and they were not. France was no different. I was still "black in a white man's territory". Privilege seemed to be even more pronounced here than back home in my opinion. One privilege I did have was my ability to speak French. Through my French conversation skills, I defied the typical views held about American tourists. To boot, according to French people I meet, I don't carry a thick accent when I speak , which helps me to blend in. Very few can ever guess what part of the world I'm from. Thus, my nationality and culture most of the time remain a mystery. I usually then allow them a couple of guesses before replying, much to their astonishment, that, "Je suis Américain" (I'm American). Correctly put, yes, I am American, but history has also willed upon me and many others the distinct label of being African-American. In France, this has been a rather difficult concept to grasp for many. The conversation usually starts off with a "Where are you from"? To which I reply, "the states". Then taking a familiar turn they ask, "what about your parents or their parents"? To which my reply remains, "the states". What I found fascinating was not so much the question itself as much as their response to my response. For most children growing up in France for instance, born to parents who migrated directly from former French colonies (Senegal, Ivory Coast, Mali, Cameroon, Benin, Togo, Tchad, etc.), know their roots. Even if they define and consider themselves as French, the culture of their parents and grandparents remains a significant part of their lives. Examples are evident in the day to day social and cultural norms, in how they dress, what they eat, how they interact with one another, where they shop, etc. It was only normal that they would think I fit the same cultural context as them. Here are some common examples. As I can hold my own in French, it's almost as if I was being forced to break ties with the black experience in America. I've been hit with the occasional, "je te croyais antillais en fait" (I thought you were from either Martinique or Guadeloupe in the Carribean...). Or, "votre français est formidable"! (your French is excellent!), où est ce que tu l'as appris"? (where did you learn French ?). My reply: "I'm not sure what to say, thanks I guess... Other typical remarks I receive on a weekly basis : "how can your French be so good, are you sure you're American"?! Or, "wow, you barely have an accent, that's impressive". "Wait a minute, you're French is that good. Are you sure you're not French Caribbean"? "No one in your family speaks French "!? Of course these are all compliments which I gladly accepted. This is not me boasting about how good my French is, this is more so to point out how my ability to speak the language has kept me from being perceived as a typical American. Here, because I blend in, I didn't see myself as so many African Americans saw themselves here back in the 1950's and 60's, but oddly as it sounds, I fitted somewhere in between their's and the African one. In the eyes of the interpreter, once they discover that I'm American and can see that I'm black, they could not make sense of how well I could speak French. It's not everyday in France that you stumble upon a black guy whose first language was not French and who barely carries an accent. Most of us black males back home are all too busy at home trying to blend in to avoid being criminalized by the police like so many have been recently. What I found fascinating though is that for the interpreter, there had to be some catch, some cultural connection, something deeper that made logical sense. In their view, to be a full-bred American, who happened to learn and speak the language decently, didn't correspond with their typical perceptions of black people in France. So I started questioning whether my ability to communicate with those around me was actually a privilege or merely a tool of deculturalization -- in my case being one that was defined strictly by American social and cultural mores. The only reasonable explanation for this view from the French perspective seems to be the different histories and outcomes that have emerged as a result of European colonization and American slavery and subsequent race relations. What this means more importantly is that education on these topics is relatively vague. On one end of the spectrum, very little is taught in France from the vantage point of slavery in the United States and the history of the American negro. On the other, even lesser is taught in American schools about the history of european colonialism. Hints the importance to travel because it's the only way to really comprehend. If you travel to the states, sooner or later, whether you choose to view colonization differently than slavery in theory, you'll eventually be aware that France and the U.S. are not so dissimilar at the core. If you're American going to France, I'm sure you'll find many similarities and differences as well. I have used this as an opportunity to show my French students the film "My Friend Martin". A lot of you may be familiar with this cartoon depiction of the life of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. taking you through the most memorable events of the civil rights movement. I felt this would be a good starter film for the students, especially those growing up in different neighborhoods than a lot of their white counterparts. If you have recommendations for other films, documentaries, or other references that you deem essential, feel free to note them below. If you feel you can relate and have encountered a similar experience here in France or in another country, don't hesitate to share. I would enjoy reading about each and every one of your experiences as it relates. Or if you just want to comment below, feel free as well. |
Raymond J.
This blog seeks to incorporate stories about life abroad in Paris and beyond. |