Academic Musings, Life Musings, Race & Ethnicity

The French Approach to “Anti-racism”: Pretty Words and Magical Thinking

I first came to France twelve years ago during my junior year abroad. I was the first person in my family to get a passport and I could barely contain my excitement. In the winter of 2003, two years before the riots that followed the untimely deaths of 15 year old Zyed Benna and 17 year old Bouna Traore, I landed in Paris bright-eyed and bushy tailed, armed with a very shaky grasp of French and a naive fascination with this beautiful country.

As an African-American, I was vaguely aware that France did not deal with issues of race the way we do in the United States. And when I happened to forget, French white people were keen to remind me. In one of the sociology classes I took at a university in the south of France, I hesitantly raised my hand to ask a question. The white French professor had been lecturing on youth and delinquency. I asked, in my broken French, if the dynamics he described had any relation to racial or ethnic belonging. “We don’t have that kind of problem here,” he said, adding: “This isn’t the United States.” Embarrassed and flustered, I nodded and continued taking notes. After class, one of the only other black students pulled me aside: “We do have those kinds of problems here. Hang out with me and I’ll tell you about it.”IMG_7291

My new friend was from Cameroon and had moved to France along with her sister and brother several years prior. Over the course of the semester, her family basically adopted me, inviting me to dinners, showing me the area and telling me about their lives. I learned that despite the fact that each of them had white French partners and white close friends, they nonetheless experienced racism. But, as I learned in that sociology class that day, many French people denied that racism was actually a problem in their supposedly colorblind society.

Zyed Benna and Bouna Traoré, two teenagers who died on October 27th in 2005 after being chased by police officers. Photo courtesy of Le Monde.
Zyed Benna and Bouna Traoré, two teenagers who died on October 27th in 2005 after being chased by police officers. Photo courtesy of Le Monde.

Continue reading “The French Approach to “Anti-racism”: Pretty Words and Magical Thinking”

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Race & Ethnicity

Blackwashing History: Slavery, Lynching & White Erasure

This morning, I came across a newly published article in the New York Times on the history of lynching in the U.S. south. Curiously, I noted that the author racialized the lynching victims – they were repeatedly referred to as black – but the race of those who did the lynching was left unmarked. In the article, blacks were lynched by “a group of men”, a “mob”, or simply by no one at all (using the passive voice). Not once in this article about a horrific chapter of the racial past was it ever explicitly acknowledged that whites did the lynching. Even more disturbing to me, when the author characterized lynching as “racial terror”, he used quotation marks. As if the phrase was in question.

Reading this piece of journalism, early in the morning before I’d even had my coffee, felt like a slap in the face. I wondered about the depth of denial required to not only write, but approve, an entire article about racial lynching—during Black History Month, no less!—that implicitly masks the role of white people in the bloody affair. But this pattern of denial was as unsurprising as it was upsetting. Not only is the erasure of whiteness and white responsibility a general feature of white supremacy, it is also one of my main findings about the representation of racial history on the other side of the Atlantic, in France. This latter topic is the subject of Resurrecting Slavery, the book I’m currently completing during my leave.

The lynching article illustrates similar patterns of asymmetric racialization and white erasure at work in the way slavery and colonialism are depicted in French society today. In official representations, I found that the enslaved were very often racialized as black – yes in “colorblind” France – but whites were rarely acknowledged. But this is far from the entire story. Outside of official speeches and texts that promoted white erasure, whiteness was at times recognized and deconstructed in commemorative events on the ground, especially in arenas where people of color had the opportunity to engage each other and openly discuss the history and legacies of slavery. These spaces of discussion and contention among ordinary people are important sites of knowledge production where minorities and anti-racist whites can produce alternative understandings of race, challenging the post-racialism and denial of the French state.

In Resurrecting Slavery, I argue that it’s a mistake—in France and elsewhere—to think that “breaking the silence” about racism or racial history is itself anti-racist. Racial history is all too often represented in ways that perpetuate the invisibility of white people’s role in (re)producing racism. This is particularly the case when authors, politicians, commemorative officials or academics join in masking, denying or justifying white people’s agency and responsibility for racism in the past and/or present. Take, for example, the 2001 “Taubira Law” that made France the first (and to this day, the only) country in the world to recognize slavery as a “crime against humanity”. On its face, this legislative development might seem like a significant step in the fight against racism. After all, no other Western nation has explicitly enshrined in law any recognition for the criminality of transatlantic slavery—a practice that was routinely legitimated and justified with racist ideology by European practitioners throughout its history. Yet, a closer look at the text of the law reveals certain peculiarities. The three main articles of the legislation read as follows:

Article 1

The French Republic recognizes that the transatlantic negro slave trade as well as the trade in the Indian ocean on the one hand, and slavery on the other, perpetrated from the 15th century in the Americas and in the Caribbean, in the Indian Ocean and Europe against African, American-Indian, Malagasy and Indian populations constitutes a crime against humanity.

Article 2

The academic curriculum and programs of research in history and the human sciences will accord to the negro trade and slavery the consequential place they deserve. Cooperation which permits and places in articulation written archives available in Europe with oral sources and archeological knowledge accumulated in Africa, the Americas, the Caribbean and in all other territories having known slavery will be encouraged and promoted.

Article 3

A request for recognition of the transatlantic negro trade as well as the trade in the Indian ocean and slavery as a crime against humanity will be introduced before the European Council, international organizations and the United Nations. This request will equally target the selection of a common date on an international scale for commemorating abolition of the negro trade and slavery, without preference for the commemorative dates of each overseas department.

The text of the law makes it clear that the French state now acknowledges that transatlantic slavery was criminal and calls for educational and commemorative efforts to resurrect this aspect of the past. But, as other scholars have pointed out, the legislation decries a crime without a culprit. The wording also singles out specific groups that were targeted and exploited: African, American-Indian, Malagasy and Indian populations. Further, the law implicitly reifies a racial category—in this case, blackness— with four references to the “negro trade” (traite negrière). But how are those who carried out enslavement characterized? The first article declares that slavery was “perpetrated”, yet no perpetrator (individual or collective) is mentioned. More to the point: not only are the perpetrators of slavery not named, they are not racialized. The slavery past is represented in terms that resurrect certain aspects of race, but only the race of the victims.

Many sociologists have argued that race is socially constructed. Resurrecting Slavery draws attention to an aspect of racial construction that is rarely addressed by social scientists: the way our understandings of race are intertwined with ideas about time. Colorblind discourse (which is hegemonic in France) not only denies the existence of racial groups (especially whites) generally, it also asserts a specific temporal representation of race. As critical race theorists have shown, colorblindness is, first and foremost, an attempt to erase race from representations of society and often entails a denial of various aspects of race in the past and present. At times, people are able to challenge this erasure by constructing what I call racial temporality—making connections between racial categories, relations and processes across time. Such temporal labor is, I argue, both a key component of racial cognition and an important tool of anti-racism.

Academic Musings, Gender, Politics, Race & Ethnicity

Spirituality, Rape Culture & the Denigration of Harriet Tubman

change.orgYou may have heard the recent story of Russell Simmons’ endorsement and marketing of a “Harriet Tubman Sex Tape”, an astoundingly awful attempt at satire which instantly drew the formidable ire of concerned citizens across social media.   The video is appalling for more reasons than I can summarize here — the contribution to rape culture, the denigration of Harriet Tubman’s monumental heroism, the disrespect of women broadly, African American women in particular and the enslaved ancestors of diasporic people everywhere. Truly, I could go on and on.  It was that horrific.

On August 14th 2013, the same night that the video was released on Youtube, I authored a Change.org petition which gathered over 1,000 signatures in less than 24 hours, demanding that Simmons remove and apologize for the video. After pressure from many corners, including the NAACP, Simmons did in fact pull the video and issue a (highly problematic) apology. The petition was covered in more than 100 media & online outlets. You can read about the video and the campaign against it on MSNBC, Washington Post and, even the Daily Mail.

I also did an interview with emPower Magazine that you can read here.

While I alluded to compassion and spirituality in the interview, I didn’t delve into the relationship between my outrage and my spiritual practice.  In fact, my views on the importance of respecting our ancestors are inspired, in part, by Thich Nhat Hanh’s work on being a Buddhist and a person of color.  In his fabulous book “We are One: Honoring Our Diversity, Celebrating our Connection”, he reflects on the significance of embracing not only our cultural heritage, but also our ancestry.  This is also a theme he develops in this speech, given from Plum Village in 1997: “We Are the Continuation of Our Ancestors“.  He states, in part:

“I always feel that I am the continuation of my ancestors. Every day I practice touching my ancestors. In my country every home has an altar for ancestors, blood ancestors and spiritual ancestors. An altar is just a table, but it is very important. You place that table in the central part of your house and you focus your attention on the table as the point of contact between you and your ancestors. Usually every morning we come and offer some incense to our ancestors. Our ancestors do not need to smell incense, but we want to light a stick of incense to our ancestors because the practice of lighting incense focuses our attention on the presence of our ancestors. During the time you strike the match, you light the stick of incense, you offer the incense on the table, you have an opportunity to touch your ancestors within yourself. You realize that your ancestors are always alive in you because you are the continuation of your ancestors.”

Now, in the interests of full disclosure, I should say that I do not have an altar for my ancestors in my home.. or anywhere else.  But consciously honoring and remembering my inherent connection to all those who came before me has become, over the years, an increasingly important part of how I recognize and celebrate the Divine.  As Thich Nhat Hanh states – the point is to focus attention on the presence of our ancestors.  To honor our ancestors is to also honor the Self.  Doing so requires our loving awareness.

That said, I don’t think it’s necessary to be a descendant of slaves to find offense in the video Russell Simmons’ media venture produced. There are many folks of diverse backgrounds – including white Americans – who shared my outrage and discontent.  Truthfully, all it takes is wisdom, insight and compassion to respect the dignity of other human beings, those who are living now, and those who have passed on.

The challenge, I think, for all of us — and the vital importance of humanistic principles and enlightened spirituality — is to overcome the limitations of our experience and the boundaries we erect between “us” and “them”.  In so doing, we consciously embrace our solidarity with the whole of humanity, past and present.  When we demean each other, it is because we have a broken and incomplete understanding of ourselves.  When we think we are defined by our ego – the limited idea of who we think we are – we are inexorably led to have a limited idea of the “others” we identify with.  As conscious, compassionate people dedicated to making this world a more loving place, we must commit to living beyond our ego and our conditioning.

What does this have to do with Russell Simmons and his video?  Well, first of all, I won’t even really touch the ridiculous contradictions inherent in the fact that he frames himself as a spokesperson for enlightenment, writing books on spirituality and tweeting about the Bhagavad Gita — while also calling the “comedic” portrayal of the rape of an enslaved American hero “the funniest thing” he’s ever seen.   The point I’m making here is that fundamentally, Simmons’ misstep revealed a lack of awareness – an inability, in that particular moment, to fully recognize and honor the humanity of women generally, Harriet Tubman in particular, his own enslaved ancestors and survivors of sexual assault and rape.  In one fell swoop, he denigrated a huge swath of humanity — and that kind of denigration can only happen when we allow ourselves to lapse into ignorance — ignorance about who we really are.  If Russell Simmons had truly been in touch with the fullness of his own humanity, the incredible power of his own divinity, the enlightened consciousness of his interconnection with all living Beings, past and present, he could not have acted from such a place of profound disrespect.

I say this not as someone who knows Russell Simmons personally, but rather as someone who knows human nature, beginning with my own.  I know that it is only possible for me to disrespect someone else when I am ignorant.  And I also know that it is possible to grow in awareness and love, for myself and others, if my heart’s intention is to do so.  For that reason, I sincerely hope that Russell Simmons – and indeed, all of us – use this moment to pause and reflect on how we can rise in consciousness.

In the updates to the petition, I included a number of resources for folks who want to learn more about the history of women, slavery, sexual trauma and violence against African-Americans.  This was not just for his benefit – but mine as well.  We all have a lot to learn about these issues.  But I must say . . . book knowledge can only go so far.  And lots of folks with less education, less life experience and less exposure to social and cultural capital than Russell Simmons knew that video was in incredibly poor taste.

Beyond building knowledge, I also encouraged Simmons to engage in face-to-face discussion and dialogue with women and men who have survived rape.  I know in my own experience, these kinds of conversations have been life changing.  Having people trust me enough to share their stories of surviving and overcoming sexual assault has been an incredible gift that pushed me to grow and become more compassionate and thoughtful about a social reality that affects nearly 1 in 3 women.  The fact is, I have loved women who have been raped.  And I have loved men who have experienced sexual trauma.  We are all connected to survivors of rape, whether in our immediate circles or in our family trees.  We must all do more to practice love and care in how we think about this issue.

In terms of moving forward, I include below a list of some of the suggested readings produced in consultation with black women scholars (especially Dr. Koritha Mitchell (@ProfKori) and Dr. Christina Sharpe (@hystericalblkns).  These are just a few excellent sources we have in scholarship on women, race, slavery, sexual assault and post-slavery violence against blacks.

– Angela Davis (1972) “Reflections on the Black Woman’s Role in the Community of Slaves”

-Crystal Feimster (2011): “Southern Horrors: Women and the Politics of Rape and Lynching”

-Saidiya Hartman (1996): “Seduction and the Ruses of Power”

-Koritha Mitchell (2012): “Living with Lynching:African American Lynching Plays, Performance and Citizenship”

-Dorothy Roberts (1997): “Killing the black body : Race, Reproduction, and the Meaning of Liberty

-Christina Sharpe (2010): “Monstrous Intimacies: Making Post-Slavery Subjects”

Additionally, you might consider reading Ida B. Wells’ pamphlets as well as “Six Women Slave Narratives”.

Finally, I should say that this is all a bit surreal for me, given that 1) I’ve never done a change.org petition before and 2) the actual subject of my scholarship is the way in which folks throughout the diaspora interpret the history and legacies of Atlantic slavery.  Right now I’m working on a book that takes stock of recent commemorative movements in France that have drawn greater attention to French involvement in the slave trade while also transforming the contemporary meanings of blackness in French politics and culture.  Some of my work also explores how African-Americans imagine the history of slavery.  You can read more about these projects here.

Interestingly, I didn’t begin this line of work with strong opinions about whether or how the history of slavery should be represented.  When I went to Paris years ago to interview activists, officials and ordinary people of African descent, I did so with a very open mind about the relative merits of various ways of relating (or not relating) to the past.  In fact, I still do make a practice of understanding – with some degree of detachment – the various frames people use for underscoring the relevance or irrelevance of slavery in our contemporary moment.  As a social scientist, my job is to unpack not only the different perspectives articulated by social actors, but also the conditions of possibility that shape those perspectives as well as the broader consequences of those views for the way folks see themselves in relationship to society.  In order to do a good job of that, I need to be attentive to how my own positionality shapes my scholarship — but I cannot be overly invested in a particular view.

When I began this work, I was not deeply spiritual, nor was I particularly interested in honoring my ancestors.  But I was deeply interested in exploring how other people in the diaspora grappled with the intersecting stigmas of contemporary anti-black racism and the historical legacies of chattel slavery.  As I had not yet come to fully embrace any particular stance, I wanted to use my fieldwork in France to not only generate scholarship about contemporary French politics and practices of blackness in Europe, but also to produce knowledge about the range of logics people draw upon when trying to make sense of history and its impact on the present.  In the process, I eventually came to define and embrace my own views on this question, even as I held firm to my desire to understand and respect the perspectives of the people I interviewed, even – and especially – when I disagree with their claims.

In any case, when I started my fieldwork in 2008 – as an observer in a foreign country with the pretense of detachment – I would never have predicted that I’d one day start a petition to protect the memory of an enslaved American heroine, or write blog posts about the spiritual importance of honoring our ancestors.  How interesting it is to come full circle in this way.

Life Musings

Parisian Memories

It’s been three and a half years since I returned from my two year stay in Paris.  I have not taken much time to reminisce or delve into the experience.  When people ask how it was, I find it difficult to convey what took place for me during that time – emotionally, culturally, intellectually.   It fundamentally changed me.  In ways I’m still grasping – ways I’ll probably never fully understand.  The other night, I dreamed I was in France again – and in the dream itself, I paused to consciously breathe as I walked along a boulevard, closed my eyes and said to my Dream-Self, “I’m back in Paris!  PARIS!”  Pure elation.

What struck me most about living abroad was how intensely alive I felt.  Alive–because I was forced out of my element.  Alive–because I had to struggle to communicate in basic sentences as I painfully transitioned from broken French to fluency.  Alive–because I had to figure out how to gather data for my ambitious dissertation.  Alive–because I was in a foreign place, in a culture that I did not understand.  Alive–because I was constantly pushing myself against the boundaries of my own limits, my own fears.

I spent a total of almost 3 years living in France during my twenties.  In college, I participated in Wellesley’s amazing study abroad program in Aix-en-Provence during the spring semester of my junior year.  I then returned for several extended trips during the early phase of graduate school and then settled for two years in Paris where I conducted over 120 in-depth interviews and completed ethnographic fieldwork for my dissertation research.

I did not take the time to keep a detailed journal when I was living in France.  But I suspect that many, many memories are still there, waiting to unveil and avail themselves.  I’ve decided that from time to time, I’ll blog about some of these memories.  Everything will be out of order and jumbled, but I’m curious to see what I’m able to recall after all these years.

* * *

Anyone who has ever lived in Paris knows that one does not live not live in Paris at all, but in an arrondissement–a district.  I lived in the 14th, on the border of the 6th, on a very small street called La Rue Leopold Robert, tucked between Boulevard Montparnasse and Boulevard Raspail.

My apartment was in a building on the corner, with a Caribbean restaurant on conveniently located on the first floor.  There was a touchpad on the front door, which lead to an entry way with black and white tiles, another door, and then the tiny burgundy elevator — just enough room for two people.  I knew I was lucky to have an elevator at all — many buildings in Paris do not — and my apartment was on the sixth floor — all the way up.

The studio I lived in was smaller than most college dorms.  Upon entering the apartment, you immediately found yourself in the kitchen.  I’m using the term “kitchen” loosely, here.  In fact, it was a 3 ft by 3 ftspace with a sink, a microwave and a tiny counter.  There was no oven.  I did, however, have a stove.  With two eyes.

There was a bathroom – with peach walls – and a luxuriously large bathtub that I miss dearly.  But the shower was awkwardly arranged such that if you moved too far to the left or the right, you could easily knock yourself unconscious by bumping into the built-in shelves that were built-in too low.  There was a little metal table next to the sink and a huge, ornate floor-to-ceiling window.  My “bedroom” featured a futon, a desk, another huge, ornate window, a mirrored wall, a small flat screen TV, a small table, two chairs and a bookshelf and a radio.   I estimate that the entire space was probably about 250 square feet.  And that’s being generous.

I did, however, have the great fortune of living in a fully furnished apartment designed by someone with great aesthetic taste – a woman who started off as my landlady and later became a dear friend. She had arranged the apartment to be efficient and beautiful.  There was plenty of closet space, built-in drawers and cabinets, pretty drapes.  It was a simple. ridiculously tiny apartment, nothing fancy, but fairly comfortable by Paris standards.  The one complication was the plumbing — the toilet, to be exact — but I don’t have the energy to delve into the depths of despair caused by the broyeur in that bathroom . . . another story for another day.

There’s something that happens to you when you spend several formative years in a single Parisian neighborhood.  The atmosphere of the place gets stamped on your soul.  So long as I have consciousness, I will never be able to undo what Montparnasse place did to me.  The taste of the toursades and the croissants au chocolat from the bakery on the corner.  The smell of the soap in my laundromat.  The flashing green lights of the pharmacy signs on boulevard Montparnasse.  The rush of happiness I felt slipping into my cave, La Rotonde, the famous brasserie where I was a regular.  For reasons that still evade me, the staff – from the waiters on up to the management – treated me like a mini-celebrity.  “Un café creme, s’il vous plait.”  I almost always got the same thing.

I lived in an incredibly central location.  Thirty seconds to the closest metro – but only a few minutes to several other lines.  Four minutes from my door to the Jardin du Luxembourg — the elegant Senate gardens.  On my street alone, there were about 5 restaurants — and about a hundred more within a few block radius.  My gym was around the corner. There was a major mall down the street, several movie theaters, art venues, the whole nine.  What there wasn’t a lot of was black folks.  Or brown.  It was a decidedly white, largely wealthy area.  My landlady — an incredible woman who also happened to be African American – was an exception.

I remember how frightened I was when I first disembarked.  I had to write down basic sentences – sometimes on flashcards – to make it through the day.  I didn’t have time to be paralyzed by my fear, though, because I started doing research — that is, interviewing people in French — right away.  I was incredibly rusty when I began my fieldwork, but I jumped right in.  There’s no other way to do it.

I didn’t write much about what it was like living in France while I was living it because it was an experience that overwhelmed all of my senses.  Remembering now how incredible it was to visit Monaco – once with a friend and later with my mother.  Standing on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean sea, watching the neon blue waves crash beautifully onto the rocks below.  People watching in the Marais.  Dancing with a dear friend on the roof of her apartment overlooking the sparkling Eiffel Tower at sunset as we drank champagne.  Jogging from my apartment to the Place de la Concorde and feeling like a badass.  Attending a largely black French church – with a white American pastor – in a suburb north of Paris with a friend.  Picking cherries off of trees — and eating them — at a friend’s home in the south of France.  Being lovingly adopted by the family of Camerounian classmate at the Universite de Provence, Aix-Marseille. My intense involvement with Democrats Abroad as a spokesperson for the Obama campaign in Paris.  Being whisked off in private cars (Mercedes – always Mercedes) to do countless TV and radio interviews in a language I had not yet quite mastered. Feeling awkward and afraid and nervous and exhilarated and excited and alive — so alive.  So many memories.  So many that I left aside and repressed.

One of the reasons I pushed so much of my French life aside is because of how it ended.  I spent my first year in Paris getting my bearings and learning how to take care of myself on my own in a foreign place.  Then I began a romance with a Frenchman that would last almost four years and follow me across the Atlantic.  Although it was often very charming to feel so in love and lust in the city of lights, it was in fact a very difficult relationship – one fraught with emotional trauma and drama that unfolded in two countries, in two languages.

My memories of Paris were tainted with the turmoil of that relationship.  It is only now – 15 months after I ended it – that I am able to begin to look back at France with fresh eyes and remember my life there without the painful memory of  our story defining my Parisian experience.

Still, it is not without some trepidation that I reconstruct this period of my life.  Who knows what I’ll recall?  Or, worse, what I’ve irreparably lost?