Paris, turbans, and Facebook
I notice it’s Friday the 13th…
…reflect on the absurdity of that for a nano-second — and quickly run out to a celebration dinner with one of my best friends. We’ve only known each other for a couple of years, but it seems like a lot longer. Probably because we both studied design, work in the same industry, giggle at the same memes, and can communicate a monologue with just one look. Sometimes we even dress alike.
There are a couple of visible differences between us. His skin is darker than mine and he wears a turban. Although unless I’m deliberately goading him to let loose and let his hair down (puns intended), it’s other people who remind us we’re ‘different’.
Within minutes of sitting down, we notice someone watching us— probably trying to understand what we’re doing together. This happens often. I routinely don’t acknowledge it. This time he points it out — so we decide to turn it into a joke (complete with confusing and exaggerated hand gestures) for our own amusement. This turns into a discussion on his experience in airports, how often he gets randomly pulled over, and the woman who stared at him and clutched her keys between her fingers as he walked out of the parkade to meet me.
A couple of hours into it, we check our phones and start to hear about the attacks in Paris. The night ends on a somber and tense note, as details pour in. We head our separate ways, and I prepare for my trip to Montreal in the morning.
By morning, I learn ISIS has claimed responsibility for the attacks, calling France the capital of prostitution and vice. By early afternoon, I exit the train station in Montreal to a vigil taking place at the French consulate (steps from my college and the Gap I worked at after school). By evening, social media has started to twist in its usual way — with people judging each other for not making as big of a fuss over the Beirut attacks.
Being very familiar with grief, I wonder — is there anything concrete to be gained right now by criticizing people’s responses to the Paris attacks? What about those who were directly affected by this? Is it fair to them to make that kind of noise right now? Is it the right moment to have an aggressive debate about other tragedies not getting as much global support? Maybe, maybe not. What I do know is people are entitled to come together support each other. So maybe that should be the main focus for a moment.
France is close to home for many Canadians, myself included as a French-Canadian born to Croatian parents. French was my first language. French books and cartoons fabricated my childhood, while bescherelles plagued it (even as I write this, my ESL insecurity lingers). Parisienne women kicked me out of ballet at 5. French restaurants still remind me of my dad’s cooking (something he picked up while living in Paris). And I had exactly one *French* word tattooed on me, after my father died.
It is more personal for me. Should I hide or diminish that, for apparent political correctness on Facebook?
French, French-Canadian, and French-speaking immigrants — were the first people I grew to know, love, study, argue, work, and experience life with. Strolling through Paris last year with my French-Croatian aunt, felt like being home.
Should I feel ashamed for having a visceral reaction the Paris attacks, vs the attacks in Beirut or Kenya? Do mass groups of people coming together to show support for France at all change the horrible events that took place elsewhere?
Another thing that might have upped the collective shock value on the Paris attacks, is how France is globally perceived and what it stands for — alongside the official statement from ISIS. Aside from declaring a bunch fanatical nonsense, there’s a very clear tone of f*ck you and everything you stand for.
France embodies everything religious zealots everywhere hate: enjoyment of life here on earth in a myriad little ways: a fragrant cup of coffee and buttery croissant in the morning, beautiful women in short dresses smiling freely on the street, the smell of warm bread, a bottle of wine shared with friends, a dab of perfume, children playing in the Luxembourg Gardens, the right not to believe in any god, not to worry about calories, to flirt and smoke and enjoy sex outside of marriage, to take vacations, to read any book you want, to go to school for free, to play, to laugh, to argue, to make fun of prelates and politicians alike, to leave worrying about the afterlife to the dead. No country does life on earth better than the French…
- Blackpoodles — Santa Barbara
So while what has happened elsewhere in the world is also unfair and despicable, what is the tangible merit in getting riled up by people coming together and showing support? It will not erase any horror elsewhere. To me it’s about as misguided as clutching your keys at the sight of a person with brown skin.
Something more valuable to focus on, might be to consider how last Friday’s events will also impact other people like my friend. Who, on the morning following the attacks — decided to cancel a weekend trip he’d planned out of fear of further violence towards himself and one of his friends. His friend is Muslim while he is Sikh. Neither of them are anywhere in the vicinity of the belief system associated with the attackers. And yet, Friday’s events will have a massive impact on their lives. They will continue to get profiled and judged for the skin they were born with. Even though they, like many other Canadians, understand the value of human life and believe in freedom and equality.
There’s a lot of sadness, tension, and fear floating in the air at the moment — but I hope that even through that we can do our best to remember two things:
- These acts were committed by a select group of sick people — not a specific culture or faith.
- Love and solidarity, in its true form — is good. It’s contagious and inherently inclusive. Let’s let it be that.
Vive la France.
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity — pour tous.
