“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