Black-Blanc-Beur: Being Thrown Against the Sharp White Background

Originally written as part of a study of Postcolonial Literature at Oxford University

“Black-Blanc-Beur”. The nickname that defined the 1998 FIFA World Cup winning French national team is watermarked diagonally across every page of the seventh section in the penultimate chapter of Claudia Rankine’s An American Lyric. The nickname was a play on the racial makeup of the team: Black frenchmen, Blanc (white) frenchmen, Beur (North African descended) frenchmen. The nickname has been revived several times since, but was abandoned by the players in France’s second World Cup win in the summer of 2018 as the players stressed to the public that they were, quite simply, French. The decision of the players to abandon the nickname stemmed from scrutiny from nationalists within the country that it asserted the players were “other” by virtue of not being purely French. This naming phenomenon that has taken place within the last twenty years of French football shows striking similarities to the discussions about the definition of race within Postcolonial literature. By looking at Postcolonial literature — namely Rankine’s Citizen and David Dabydeen’s long poem Turner — alongside this relationship between French cultural politics and football, this essay will assert that the definition of racial “otherness” is such an integral point of critique in Postcolonial literature because it has been, and still is, the most prolific way to assert the authority of whiteness and validity of nationalism in Western civilizations.

Claudia Rankine’s aforementioned section is a meditation on Zinedine Zidane’s headbutt of Marco Materazzi in the 2006 World Cup Final, and is is a deeply potent section that focuses on race and, more specifically, the role of language in racism. The section devoted to Zidane’s career-defining moment in the game that was meant to be his triumphant finale moves in slow motion; a frame-by-frame depiction of the scene shows Materazzi talking to Zidane, Zidane turning around and planting his head into Materazzi’s chest. (Rankine ch. VI section 7) The scene is accompanied by Rankine’s own poetry along with quotes from Zidane, famous writers and famous theorists from the English and French speaking worlds. The most important of these quotations, for the purpose of this essay, comes from Ralph Ellison: “Perhaps the most insidious and least understood form of segregation is that of the word.” (Rankine p. 122) The American novelist articulates the idea that language is at the root of all segregation and could insist that the act of speech, specifically hate speech, could be the most damaging form of segregation.

To understand this role of language as the “most insidious and least understood form racial segregation”, it is helpful to consult W. J. T. Mitchell’s Picture Theory. While speaking about image-text relationships, Mitchell touches on the idea that race is defined as an “otherness” that deviates from a white norm, and, by virtue of being the standard to which all other races are compared, whiteness cannot be defined:

Racial otherness […] is open to precisely this sort of visual/verbal coding. The assumption that “blackness” is a transparently readable sign of racial identity, a perfectly sutured imagetext. Race is what can be seen (and therefore named) in skin color, facial features, hair, etc. Whiteness, by contrast, is invisible, unmarked; it has no racial identity, but is equated with a normative subjectivity and humanity from which “race” is a visible deviation. […] That is why forms of resistance to these stereotypes so often take the form of disruption at the level of representation, perception, and semiosis: Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man is not “empirically” unseen; he refuses visibility as an act of insubordination. (p. 162–163)

Mitchell’s assertion that racial “otherness” can be defined as simply being a “deviation” from whiteness is a theme that recurs in Postcolonial literature. In both Dabydeen and Rankine’s works, racial slurs, which are inherently no more powerful than any other words, are used as was to define “otherness”, ways to dehumanize the recipient to something less than human.

In the third chapter of her book, Rankine asserts this idea that race is most poignantly felt in comparison to the racelessness of whiteness. Rankine uses two stencil-drawn phrases (“I do not always feel colored” and “I feel most colored when I am thrown against a sharp white background”) to depict this.

(Rankine p. 52–53)

As the stenciled phrases repeat until they bleed into an illegible black smudge at the bottom of the page, the author seems to blur into the general category of blackness, or “otherness”, when placed against this “sharp white background”. The author fades into the homogeneity that comes from being apart of the collective non-whiteness attributed to their race. This theme is also prevalent in David Dabydeen’s long poem Turner. The poem, told from the perspective of a drowned African thrown off a slave ship into the ocean, reflects on the ability of language, a single word in particular, to throw its receiver onto Rankine’s “sharp white background”. “…Later it confirmed its breed, / Tugging my hair spitefully, startling me / With obscene memory. “Nigger!” it cried […] Recognizing me below my skin long since / Washed clean of the color of sin […] ‘Nigger’ it cries, naming me from some hoard / Of superior knowledge.” (Dabydeen XVIII) The use of that word is essential in Dabydeen’s long poem. That word is the only way in which the speaker can define themselves; somewhere along the Middle Passage, the speaker lost the ability to remember their homeland, their family, and their own gender, but that word which identified them as non-white, and by virtue not worthy of human rights, remained. It proves once again that by virtue of being non-white in a white-centric Postcolonial society, the speaker is ultimately considered one of the many and defined by that metonymic slur.

This idea of being named as other once again ties into Rankine’s section depicting Zidane’s infamous 2006 World Cup exit. Since the moment happened, what Marco Materazzi said to Zinedine Zidane has been in question. In her book, Rankine cites lip readers who report seeing “Big Algerian shit, dirty terrorist”. (p. 122) There is, however, discrepancy over what Materazzi said; professional lip readers have never been able to come to a consensus due to the similarity in perceived lip reading of “terrorista” (Italian for terrorist) and sorella (Italian for sister). Zidane has refused to say exactly what Materazzi said, and Materazzi has attached himself to the narrative of the “sister” lip readings and claimed ignorance by saying, “I didn’t call Zidane a terrorist […] I am ignorant, I don’t even know what an Islamic terrorist is.” (BBC) To assume that Zidane would end his career in disgrace over what Materazzi said was, “the kind of insult you will hear dozens of times and just slips out of the ground” (BBC) is willful ignorance. However, while there are arguments that can be made as to what exactly Materazzi said, it does not matter what was said because Rankine’s depiction of the event retains its validity as a depiction of the reaction to the sort of identifying language being discussed.

The quotes accompanying the frame-by-frame emphasize the range of emotions shown as Zidane begins to walk away, turns around, and assaults Materazzi. Rankine offers one quote from Zidane himself as he begins to turn toward Materazzi in the frame-by-frame: “Do you think two minutes from the end of a World Cup final, two minutes from the end of my career, I wanted to do that?” (Rankine p. 124) Zidane’s quote puts his decision to act into context, he would not stoop to Materazzi’s level. This is followed by a quote from Shakespeare: “Let him do his spite: My services which I have done… Shall out tongue his complaints.” (Rankine p. 126) This is immediately followed by the incendiary quote that started the scene: “Big Algerian shit, dirty terrorist.” The next two quotes leteralize Zidane’s decision. James Baldwin says, “In order to save his life, he is forced to look beneath appearances, to take nothing for granted, to hear the meaning behind the words,” followed by Frederick Douglas saying “But at this moment — from whence came the spirit I don’t know — I resolved to fight; and, suiting my action to the resolution…” The next strip of images is Zidane planting his forehead into his opponent. The quotes serve to prove that idea of “racial otherness” described by Mitchell, by being referred to as an Algerian and a terrorist, Zidane somehow loses his credibility as a Frenchman, his credibility as one of the greatest footballers of all time. Like Dabydeen’s submerged African loses their sense of person, family, and gender by being reduced to that six letter n-word, Zidane loses all his achievements by being reduced to something not quite French. By virtue of his parent’s births in a foreign country, Zidane is deprived of being a frenchman — much less the greatest French footballer of all time — and reduced to being a “Big Algerian shit.” Rankine’s depiction of the event emphasizes the cultural phenomenon within which non-white Postcolonial writers exist: by being described as different from the Caucasian Euro-normal standard, one loses their sense of self and becomes associated with these perverted metonyms that define entire ethnic groups. One fades to black against a sharp white background and loses their entire self identity.

Along with controversial career finale Rankine describes, Zidane and the French national football team have been in contention with the white Eurocentric ideals of the nation’s nationalists for years. In 1998, the year the Black-Blanc-Beur team brought France the ultimate footballing glory, Jean-Marie Le Pen, the leader of France’s far-right-wing party, the National Front, commented on the ethnic makeup of France’s national side saying, “It’s a bit artificial to bring players from abroad and call it the French team.” (Clarey) Le Pen’s comments ignore the fact that French colonialism is what made it easier for citizens of former French colonies to immigrate to France more seamlessly, and, in reference to Zidane, the claim is decidedly false as he was born in Marseille. This was not the last time Zidane was in contention with the French nationalist; Zidane and other famous French footballers came out publicly against Jean-Marie Le Pen when he ran as a Nationalist Front presidential candidate. (BBC) Then, in France’s most recent election, Zidane spoke publicly against the National Front presidential candidate and daughter of Jean-Marie Le Pen, Marine Le Pen, saying, “The message is always the same, that of 2002. I am far from all those ideas, of this National Front. So (it is necessary) to avoid this. The extremes, are never good.” (L’Équipe) France’s football team is so connected to the idea of colonialism that after their world cup victory in 2018 people heralded it a victory for Africa. “The Daily Show” host Trevor Noah tweeted, “Congratulations to Africa on winning the 2018 Men’s World Cup” (Twitter) While the comments coming in 2018 were undoubtedly less toxic than those of Le Pen in 1998, the idea that the players didn’t represent France persisted. Paul Pogba, the team’s biggest personality, addressed the jokes saying, “There are many origins here. That’s what makes France beautiful.” (McPartland)

All this is to say that Rankine and Dabydeen’s works emphasize a very present reality of Postcolonial culture that is embodied by French national football teams through the decades. There is, in Western society, a presumption that to be not white inherently allows one’s citizenship to be questioned. Rankine’s book, written in 2014, is one of the most potent criticisms of this and many other facets of Western culture; these issues — believed to have been resolved during the US Civil Rights movement and end of European colonialism — still permeate Western culture. France is also emblematic of the fact that these issues have yet to be resolved. Even though their national football team has twice in the past 20 years proven the country is strongest when it is represented the whole of its people, every election seems to bring a stronger tide of nationalism and xenophobia. It is for this reason that today’s French footballers have sought to end the Black-Blanc-Beur narrative. This is embodied by a tweet from left back Benjamin Mendy. Mendy responded to a tweet showing the flags of the colonial nations to which many of the players have familial ties with a revised version where every flag was the French Tricolour. In rejecting to be defined as anything other than French, the French World Cup winners of 2018 have done what past players like Zidane were never given the luxury to do; they have become unconditionally French, no longer Black, no longer Blanc, no longer Beur, no longer other; just French.

Bibliography:

Clarey, Christopher. “WORLD CUP ’98; France Hoping for Title At End of the Rainbow.” The New York Times. The New York Times, 07 July 1998. Web. 27 Nov. 2018.

“BBC SPORT | Football | World Cup 2006 | Materazzi Denies Terrorist Insult.” BBC News. BBC, 11 July 2006. Web. 27 Nov. 2018.

“BBC SPORT | Zidane Urges French to Reject Le Pen.” BBC News. BBC, 29 Apr. 2002. Web. 27 Nov. 2018.

Dabydeen, David. Turner : New and Selected Poems. London: Cape, 1994. Print. Cape Poetry Paperbacks.

The Daily Show. “TONIGHT: Congratulations to Africa on Winning the 2018 Men’s World Cup! Pic.twitter.com/ly1wxU1VzT.” Twitter. Twitter, 17 July 2018. Web. 27 Nov. 2018

McPartland, Ben. “‘Africa Won the World Cup?’: French Players (and Obama) Have Final Word.” The Local. The Local, 18 July 2018. Web. 27 Nov. 2018.

Mitchell, W. J. T. Picture Theory : Essays on Verbal and Visual Representation. Chicago, 1995. Print. Rankine, Claudia. Citizen : An American Lyric. London, 2015. Print.

“Zinédine Zidane Appelle à «éviter» Le Front National à L’élection Présidentielle.” L’ÉQUIPE. L’Équipe, n.d. Web. 27 Nov. 2018.