My reaction was soft, one of compromise, and not at all reassuring. I could have been a bit more aggressive in my defense as opposed to resorting to the more civilized approach. The only questions that remained after the incident were: Did I do enough ? How does one respond to racism by getting one's point across without resorting to violence?
If you've been in Paris then you're probably no stranger to the many tourist traps set throughout the city. You're also probably aware that the ideal spot from which to take pictures or selfies in front of the Eiffel Tower from a distance is right next to the Museum of Man (Musée de l'Homme). Once in or around any of these spaces, it's literally impossible -- unless you've grown accustomed to it -- to be unaware of the dozens of dark-skinned men, looking to make a living a lot of times, off of tourists selling miniature eiffel towers and other keepsakes, speaking in any language they know how. That November, I was still getting acclimated to my surroundings and new environment as a student at the Sorbonne when we embarked on a class field trip to the museum I alluded to earlier, as part of our social and cultural geography course. The exhibit focused on the taboo notion of race. In French, the exhibit was entitled, Nous et les Autres, - Des Préjugés au Racisme". In English, Us and the Others, - From Prejudice to Racism. When I showed up, several other students were already present waiting outside the museum huddled up in conversation with one another when one student greets me in the most peculiar of ways as I approach the group. "I'm not surprised you decided to show", he says to me in a quick muddled French, perhaps hoping that I couldn't understand muddled French as well. Of course they're going to show up. I must admit though that this was probably the last thing I saw coming being in the country that I was in, in the city that I was in, and being in the program that I was enrolled in. Call it what you want. Exaggeration, victimization, or both, but coming from the states and being the only black in the classroom, whether in the U.S. or abroad, is a pretty difficult thing not to notice. Showing up for me was mandatory. Still not yet in the museum there was more. Shrugging off the first, the second remark was ironic given the circumstances and the setting. "Vous n'allez pas vendre des tours eiffels avec vos frères là bas...!" "Why are you not over their selling eiffel towers with your brothers!?", they remarked. Whoa wait a minute...time out. Field trip over. No museum visit necessary! Time to go back to the classroom and discuss what just went down. Maybe an over exaggeration as it didn't play out at all like this. But you get my point. Just a bit coincidental with the timing and exhibit title don't you think. Looks like this was a much needed visit after all. At first, I wasn't quite sure how to respond. But it became evident fairly quickly, whether jokingly or not, that because I shared the same skin color with these dark-skinned guys selling souvenirs, it was only natural that I belonged with them doing the same thing and not with the class of dignified, astute students from the Sorbonne. At least that's how I interpreted it. This is what they did not understand, which is surprising seeing that they are in a program that demands not just knowledge but reflection and interpretation. It goes a long way and it would do them and our society some good to learn how people or things may be interpreted differently depending on the context. Much to their knowledge, I was obviously black, but perhaps not as perceivable, I also came from the U.S. where black and white are interpreted completely different than in France. I spoke a different language literally and figuratively than they did, and came from a different corner of the world, where all I have known has been based on the color line, their world, not so much. Eventually inside, as the tour progressed, my frustration only grew as I took in the various sounds and images of the exhibit from the gas chambers of the Holocaust to the cotton fields of the plantations. So I began reflecting. I could have sworn we were in Paris! With its' historic universities "par excellence" that supposedly provide a platform and a space where it's students could discuss the most taboo and touchy of subjects. I could have sworn that I had enrolled at the Sorbonne where Aime Cesaire, Leopold Senghor, and Angela Davis had studied, questioned, and debated blackness and race? I could have sworn that not so long ago, Paris had been a safe haven for African Americans where restaurants, bathrooms, and neighborhoods were not labeled 'colored' or 'white' respectively, and where one could go into most clubs and dance and leave with whomever they pleased. One would think that the other student's enrolled would at least have a basic understanding of what this all meant, I certainly did. In hindsight, I regret how I handled it. I did end up confronting them both from the start, but it wasn't the most convincing. I told a friend of mine a couple weeks later what went down that afternoon. Giving me his honest, open opinion, he told me, "You have to let them know that you won't put up with their racist b.s.". "If it happens again, hit them! Then they'll know you're not just some weak defenseless chump that they can just say whatever to and get away with it!" Although I understood where he was coming from, I cannot say that I completely agreed. After all I grew up in the church (i.e., pacifist philosophy of turning the other cheek) and worked at a museum based off of an ideology condoning physical retaliation and retribution. What did I take from all of this ? I knew regardless somewhere deep down that he was right, that philosophies aside, I needed to be more self-assure moving forward, or risk the same thing happening again and again and again.. Are the terms and phrases "tolerance", "progressive", "inclusive", "liberté, égalité, fraternité", or "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness" mere rhetoric used by those in power to mask western hypocrisy and subvert the issues that really matter ?
0 Commentaires
Throughout our lives, people attach labels to us, and those labels reflect and affect how others think about our identities as well as how we think about ourselves » (facinghistory.org). In my case, I was often identified as an "Oreo". Most of us in America are aware of this term. An Oreo in sociological terms within the U.S. context can be defined as a Black person who displays characteristics associated with the dominant group (i.e., Whites). Without a doubt, it played a huge role in how I saw and thought about myself, which for me, all started in middle school.
As I was going in to high school, having been newly exposed to francophone culture, I would be simultaneously exposed to another -- white suburbia. It was vastly different from what I had experienced before at a predominantly black private school in southwest Atlanta (Fulton County). Now this couldn't be compared to segregation or Jim Crow like racism like there was in the early 20th century, but the fact remains that it still differed tremendously from where I grew up in Fulton County. Up until fairly recently, I have often looked to fit in and identify with the dominant group culturally speaking. Back in high school for instance, I had wanted my parents to only buy me the popular brands that most of the "in" white kids were seen wearing. Brands like Abercrombie & Fitch, American Eagle, New Balance, and Sperry Top Sider's. I think this was a classic example of my unconscious bias showing through. This reminded me of the doll case-study by Kenneth and Mamie Clark in the 1940's on young negro kids growing up in segregated schools in the South. At that point in my life, I too, like the kids participating in the study, had also decided that it was better to be white, whether I had fully expressed this or not. In the end, I was a part of a larger overall myth -- one that used stereotypes and dominant representations to define ideas about individuals based on one's skin color. I pronounced my words "like a white person", I wore American Eagle and other brands that were associated with whiteness and I apparently had a "white" taste in music (e.g., Switchfoot, Relient K, and The Script). The myth of conformity is a trap most of us fall into growing up, one that I had apparently articulated on a daily basis. Even though I knew there were others out there being labeled similarly, it still significantly did nothing to help lessen my insecurities. I knew that I was not "white" and could not ever be seen as such. However, at the same time, I felt a disconnect from the "black" experience based on my interests and lifestyle (i.e., style of dress, hobbies, and mannerisms). Both black and white classmates would often make me aware of this by letting me know that I was an "oreo" (i.e., black on the outside, white on the inside). In this sense, I liken my middle and high school experience to Earl Sweatshirt’s CHUM and Childish Gambino's Fire Fly and Hold you down. I was « too black for the white kids and too white for the blacks ». I'd like to conclude this post with a few existential questions: What does it mean to be white and what does the reverse look like ? Why is the black reality or any other always limited to a specific set of characteristics and attributes ? What are your thoughts ? Cheers, Raymond J Notes and sources :
A good friend of mine, currently living in Montana, asked me a question relative to my experiences so far—first as a scholar, and second (and most important, as we are both Christians) as a believer—here in Paris.
I responded that I was starting a new blog, and that the blog would be the best outlet for me to reply to his questions. Firstly, a bit about me: If you are not at all familiar with my educational background, I have only attended school in two places all of my life -- Georgia (West GA/Kennesaw State) and France (The Sorbonne). I began studying French in 8th grade, around the same time that I started to play and develop a passion for soccer. These two things are, in my opinion, the major contributors toward my interest in Geography, and, more specifically, in where I find myself studying today. As I entered my first year of undergraduate studies, I knew that I wanted to take a similar path to the one followed when I chose to study French, and choose a major that no one seemed particularly interested in; no one, that is, other than those who shared similar aspirations as I did, and wanted to try something different. Although I began college as a Global Studies major at the University of West Georgia, (which was a very broad area of study, indeed) I was determined to find out what my place was in the world, despite not knowing what I really wanted to do-or BE-in the future. I transitioned to Kennesaw State University for my final three years of college, and gained the opportunity to study abroad—in Tours, FR! This would be my first time studying or living in a place other than Georgia -- let alone in a foreign country. My expectations were high, although I had no idea what was ahead -- but, isn’t adventure the essence of travel? And so, the adventure began! Since my first study abroad program in Tours over four years ago, I've been back to France twice including this current experience. For those with travel ambitions my advice to you is simple – be mindful of the words of James Baldwin. In his novel, The Fire Next Time (1963), he reminds his nephew as a black (negro) boy growing up in the United States to, « Know from whence you came. If you know whence you came, there are absolutely no limitations to where you can go. » |
Raymond J.
This blog seeks to incorporate stories about life abroad in Paris and beyond. |