Two teal eyes peered out from behind a “Welcome!” sign that met me at the mouth of the Charles DeGaulle Airport. The 5’8’’ light-brown-haired 21-year-old fresh university graduate, my host, greeted me with a semi-awkward semi-sweet side-hug and the French traditional two-cheek kiss exchange, leading me to a compact blue-violet compact Renualt Clio. Knees tucked as I slipped into the passenger seat, within moments of the ignition’s grumble I quickly became desirous of my host’s effortless stick shift maneuvers as she shuttled us from the heart of Paris to the side-winding streets of her commune, Cachan. The quaint, postcard-perfect town extends a few ripples out from Paris, featuring a lush park at its center, a four-room movie theatre, corner stores selling halal meat, and bakery shops that perfume the air with the scent of fresh bread.
I live in the vibrant house of a program fellow, the teal-eyed girl who I affectionately call my host sister. Inside, instruments dangle from nails on shelf shelves and abstract art enlivens the walls, displaying the colorful splash of French-Chilean influence that characterizes the warm home. Nestled near the top of a garden-patched hill, my room is one with a view that arcs over the Parisian cityscape by day and captures the twinkling Eiffel Tower by night, if I crane my neck far enough out over the balcony ledge.
France’s glimmering monumental attractions, although enticing, did not bring me to France, but rather a five-week fellowship with Humanity in Action, an international minority rights program that lured me with its philosophy that “an important test of a genuine democracy is how it treats its minorities.” The initiative, which unites 10 American and 10 French students, endeavors to engage leaders in “histories of resistance to institutionalized violations of minority rights in democratic countries.” I am prepared to plunge into the French activist scene and delve into discussions with academics, journalists, politicians, artists, and community organizers who are grappling with the French identity crisis. Last year, the country held a debate—France’s favorite activity—on National Identity. This discourse was condemned for its racist sentiments and right-wing extremism, which essentially validated “pure” white identity and affirmed that foreign influences dilute French culture.
The program theme, “The Republic and its Diversity,” will inevitably challenge the program fellows to consider how France can recognize its own evolution. How can a colorblind state recognize its diversity? How can a secular republic with the largest concentration of Muslims, Jews and Buddhists in Europe respect religious diversity? How can a nation that does not acknowledge race (a social construct) or collect any ethnic statistics address racism?
While I must concede that the stereotype of people accessorized with baguettes strolling through parks is not a gross misrepresentation since my arrival, the country cannot only value its bread, cheese, wine and antiquated image of beret-clad women sitting cross-legged at a café with a cigarette wedged between their fingers. As one of the fellows deftly noted, in considering the question “What is France?” one must add the word “now.” What is France now? The country is a changing population with a multiplicity of origins, faiths, cultural practices, political beliefs, and many more axes of identity that the state is prepared to acknowledge for fear of breaching its fundamental ideal of equality. Everyone is equal before the law, allegedly.
Yet, the republic is not without its contradictions. I descended into France on the Thursday of Ascension, a Catholic holiday recognized by the government, despite the state’s strong secular stance. All shops were closed and my host mother held a gathering for her friends, although not in honor of religious observance. As she set the table with bread, chicken kabobs, balsamic salad, white balls of cheese sprinkled with an orange flavoring, and chicken nuggets (for me, the “American”), I inquired about the holiday and its legality under the state’s provisions. My host sister interjected, asking whether America is a secular state. I scooped up my jaw and replied “Of course! Church and state are separate.” She asked why, then, President Barack Obama swears on the Bible, why students in public schools rise to say the Pledge of Allegiance, why presidential addresses conclude with a crowd-rousing “God Bless America,” and why “In God We Trust” is printed on our currency. I did not have a response.
During the program orientation the HIA France director urged me to consider the legitimacy of people, especially those with which I fundamentally disagree. “Avoid being colonial. Everyone makes sense,” she emphasized, adding that each person has valid internal logic and is sculpted by national myths. In the United States, people cherish the American Dream; the notion that anyone can, with will, achieve upward mobility and success. In France, people have faith in the republic to emancipate and equalize everyone. In exploring contemporary issues in France, from the recent burqa ban (which prohibits wearing the full veil worn by some Muslim women in “public space”) to the French Football Federation’s efforts to place a race-quota system in its national academies (one senior figure suggested a cap of 30 percent on players of non-white origin), I endeavor to understand motivations driving French public policy within the national myth framework.
I anticipate a transformative month visiting governmental agencies, non-profits, community organizations, museums, memorials, communities, and, sure, cafes so I can experience the real Au Bon Pain as I contemplate issues that are emotionally and intellectually taxing. Most importantly, through, I hope to discover how people—even those with whom I fundamentally disagree—make sense.
I live in the vibrant house of a program fellow, the teal-eyed girl who I affectionately call my host sister. Inside, instruments dangle from nails on shelf shelves and abstract art enlivens the walls, displaying the colorful splash of French-Chilean influence that characterizes the warm home. Nestled near the top of a garden-patched hill, my room is one with a view that arcs over the Parisian cityscape by day and captures the twinkling Eiffel Tower by night, if I crane my neck far enough out over the balcony ledge.
France’s glimmering monumental attractions, although enticing, did not bring me to France, but rather a five-week fellowship with Humanity in Action, an international minority rights program that lured me with its philosophy that “an important test of a genuine democracy is how it treats its minorities.” The initiative, which unites 10 American and 10 French students, endeavors to engage leaders in “histories of resistance to institutionalized violations of minority rights in democratic countries.” I am prepared to plunge into the French activist scene and delve into discussions with academics, journalists, politicians, artists, and community organizers who are grappling with the French identity crisis. Last year, the country held a debate—France’s favorite activity—on National Identity. This discourse was condemned for its racist sentiments and right-wing extremism, which essentially validated “pure” white identity and affirmed that foreign influences dilute French culture.
The program theme, “The Republic and its Diversity,” will inevitably challenge the program fellows to consider how France can recognize its own evolution. How can a colorblind state recognize its diversity? How can a secular republic with the largest concentration of Muslims, Jews and Buddhists in Europe respect religious diversity? How can a nation that does not acknowledge race (a social construct) or collect any ethnic statistics address racism?
While I must concede that the stereotype of people accessorized with baguettes strolling through parks is not a gross misrepresentation since my arrival, the country cannot only value its bread, cheese, wine and antiquated image of beret-clad women sitting cross-legged at a café with a cigarette wedged between their fingers. As one of the fellows deftly noted, in considering the question “What is France?” one must add the word “now.” What is France now? The country is a changing population with a multiplicity of origins, faiths, cultural practices, political beliefs, and many more axes of identity that the state is prepared to acknowledge for fear of breaching its fundamental ideal of equality. Everyone is equal before the law, allegedly.
Yet, the republic is not without its contradictions. I descended into France on the Thursday of Ascension, a Catholic holiday recognized by the government, despite the state’s strong secular stance. All shops were closed and my host mother held a gathering for her friends, although not in honor of religious observance. As she set the table with bread, chicken kabobs, balsamic salad, white balls of cheese sprinkled with an orange flavoring, and chicken nuggets (for me, the “American”), I inquired about the holiday and its legality under the state’s provisions. My host sister interjected, asking whether America is a secular state. I scooped up my jaw and replied “Of course! Church and state are separate.” She asked why, then, President Barack Obama swears on the Bible, why students in public schools rise to say the Pledge of Allegiance, why presidential addresses conclude with a crowd-rousing “God Bless America,” and why “In God We Trust” is printed on our currency. I did not have a response.
During the program orientation the HIA France director urged me to consider the legitimacy of people, especially those with which I fundamentally disagree. “Avoid being colonial. Everyone makes sense,” she emphasized, adding that each person has valid internal logic and is sculpted by national myths. In the United States, people cherish the American Dream; the notion that anyone can, with will, achieve upward mobility and success. In France, people have faith in the republic to emancipate and equalize everyone. In exploring contemporary issues in France, from the recent burqa ban (which prohibits wearing the full veil worn by some Muslim women in “public space”) to the French Football Federation’s efforts to place a race-quota system in its national academies (one senior figure suggested a cap of 30 percent on players of non-white origin), I endeavor to understand motivations driving French public policy within the national myth framework.
I anticipate a transformative month visiting governmental agencies, non-profits, community organizations, museums, memorials, communities, and, sure, cafes so I can experience the real Au Bon Pain as I contemplate issues that are emotionally and intellectually taxing. Most importantly, through, I hope to discover how people—even those with whom I fundamentally disagree—make sense.