“Paris, Je t’aime” 
I’m gonna be honest, this senti-
ment did not really stick with me 
after I finished my study abroad. 
It’s not that I hate the city or I 
have anything against my experi-
ence there after three weeks, but 
I think my perspective of one of 
the most well-known cities in the 
world has certainly developed into 
something that has allowed me to 
read between the lines of what is 
presented and what actually is. I 
would instead, change this senti-
ment to “Paris, Je tu connais” — 
Paris I know you.
A group of black students from 
the University of Michigan go 
to Paris for three weeks, spread 
out amongst the city in different 
arrondissements, or districts, and 
explore the food, art and culture in 
their free time. 
I was elated when I got the email 
with “Congratulations” plastered 
across my phone screen saying 
I had received the once in a life-
time opportunity to go to Paris 
for almost a month to learn about 
black culture. After almost six 
years of studying French, I wanted 
to immerse myself in the culture. 
More than anything else, I was 
finally able to speak the language 
that was once limited to me in a 
classroom setting. The excitement 
and nervousness building up to liv-
ing in France was expected, and it 
was not until I landed in the coun-
try that reality hit.
Blackness amongst a community 
of black people is not exactly uni-
versal.
I know, this is not something 
that makes much sense at first, but 
let me explain. 
Paris, although known as one of 
the biggest places for art and cul-
ture under the eye of Eurocentric-
ness, is also the home to many black 
people. Some are first generation 
French whose only cultural ties 
are those from their parents and 
their homes in Africa. Others came 
to Paris for the opportunities in 
Europe, and some are generations 
removed from their roots — much 
like here in America. The biggest 
difference, however, is “Blackness” 
is not something that is not some-
thing that is shared (across the 
Atlantic/in other countries). 
When I walk across campus 
or sit in a class, I can be assured 
that I and the only black person 

in a space will acknowledge each 
other. Not because we know each 
other or even because we had 
seen each other around before. It 
is simply because we understand 
that, although we may not actually 
know each other’s names, there is 
something that ties us together, 
and that is being black in a white 
world. Head nods, greetings and 
even a wave are all things that I 
can rely on when I run into another 
black person in America, because 
we have come to understand that 
there is unity in our shared but 
also different experiences. This, 
however, is not the same in France. 
As the story goes, a group of stu-
dents from our trip to Paris went 
to explore the day before class 
started and ran across a group of 
black, Parisian kids on their way 
home after school. One person in 
our group nodded their head in 
acknowledgement and the kid he 
made eye contact with him shook 
his head in bewilderment and said, 
“Je connais tu?” — I know you? This 
same incident repeated itself over 
and over again until we brought it 
up in class. Little did we know that 
France does not acknowledge race. 
Under the motto of “Liberty, 
Equality, Fraternity” is the agree-
ment of unity. A unity that sees 
everyone as equal under every law, 
and this includes identity. Howev-
er, this unity comes with the price 
that differences amongst people 
are not to be acknowledged. This 
includes race, religion or wealth. 
While wealth makes sense due to 
the roots of the French Revolu-
tion, the idea of not acknowledging 
race or religion was something that 
shocked me. Much of my identity is 
rooted in my blackness, as it is for 
many other people, and the idea 
of not being able to discuss this 
amongst other people was alarm-
ing. 
It goes without saying that, 
although race is not acknowledged 
in France, racism most definitely 
exists. Racism existed through 
the black, male security guards 
planted at almost every store with 
the intent to “intimidate” custom-
ers or the black women who I saw 
nannying white children as they 
pushed strollers around the neigh-
borhood and on the metro station. 
As the only black professor who 
studies blackness in France, Pap 
Ndiaye puts it — many of the Black 
people we saw working as nannies 
or security guards had received the 
same degrees to those of the white 
store owners or families they work 

for, but were refused high-ranking 
jobs based on the color of their skin 
. That sounds similar to the same 
job discrimination that many black 
people face in the United States. 
With the exception that there is 
nothing that can be legally pros-
ecuted in court based off discrimi-
nation of race. 
This fact hit especially close to 
home when I was followed around 
a clothing store by a black man 
who had seen me as a potentially 
“risky customer.” I was angry at 
the fact that he was put into a posi-
tion that only allowed other people 
to profit off of his “image” of being 
intimidating and even angrier he 
assumed I was going to steal cloth-
ing. It was only after the fact that 
I realized that him following me 
around a store played into a soci-
etal standard he was trained to 
follow in order to keep his job. A 
job he had to take because France 
requires people to send in their 
photo ID’s when applying for jobs, 
which means discrimination can 
take place at any level of the job 
market. So, I replaced my initial 
anger with a sadness that acknowl-
edged the repeated incidents that 
took place during my time in Paris 
were above me — a result of a sys-
tem that does not acknowledge 
racial inequity saturated within 
the financial well-being of the 
black people who live in Paris.
This visible racial divide did not 
end in clothing stores or on metro 
stops, but followed us into muse-

ums. During our second week, we 
watched the Carter’s “Apesh*t” 
 
video and followed it with a tour of 
the Louvre to discuss of blackness 
in the space as well as the signifi-
cance of the music video. Our tour 
guide who specialized in giving 
“black tours”, a particularly “new 
and profitable” attraction for her 
business was outwardly dismissive 
and condescending to our group. 
Challenging our knowledge of art 
by asking us if we even knew who 
Michelangelo was disappointing 
to say the least, especially when 
it was followed by the outward 
objectification of black bodies by 
referring to “curly hair and strong 
physiques” as the only acknowl-
edgement 
of 
their 
existence 
besides telling us they were slaves 
at one point in time. No other 
information was offered about the 
existence of blackness in the Lou-
vre about who Jacob was in the 
Raft of the Medusa or the origin of 
the black sculptures in the muse-
um. The four to five black people 
we were shown had no name, no 
origin and no story because she 
did not know them. For a tour that 
was named “Black Images at the 
Louvre,” we were given very few 
details and left feeling like we were 
being used as a way for the woman 
to profit off us. 
I do not want to paint my 
experience as bad, because there 
were things that made the trip 
amazing for me, because it was 
outside of the public eye of what 

is deemed as an “attraction” in 
Paris.
Although blackness is not recog-
nized officially in Paris, I definitely 
cannot deny there were things I 
experienced there I absolutely loved. 
I loved the way people carried 
their baguettes around with them 
after they got off work -- a sense of 
national pride. France is a country 
that loves its bread, so much so that 
they have laws that place limits on 
the price of baguettes in the country.
I loved that the streets were 
windy and filled with history. The 
blue signs held their names and 
were filled with cars that were a 
little too close to the sidewalk.
I loved the way the Eiffel Tower 
sparkled at the tick of every hour 
for fifteen minutes in a way that lit 
up the sky while I shared a blanket 
with my friends at night.
I loved the hidden things I 
found when I ventured outside of 
tourist attractions, like the park 
I found that had a hidden cave, 
and the carnival I found hidden 
behind the cover of trees.
I loved that the McDonald’s 
tasted better than the ones here 
in the U.S. and served hotcakes 
with Nutella on the side. 
I loved that I got to visit Dis-
ney World Paris, whose lines 
were short, and where I took 
pictures with Pooh Bear near the 
castle. 

9

Wednesday, July 3, 2019
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com MICHIGAN IN COLOR

Black Paris

LORNA BROWN
MiC Assistant Editor

Read more at michigandaily.com

Courtesy of Lorna Brown

