Racism 101

I have to take French civics classes to be able to have dual passports. It’s a process that I delayed far longer than I should have done. I glanced around the classroom as it began filling up with mostly sleepy faces. We were such a mashup of peoples from literally all over the globe. It was pleasing to me. I love that sort of thing. I felt quite comfortable.

Our instructor obviously did not want to be there anymore than we wanted to be there for this nine o’clock class on a Saturday morning. She never shared her name, which was okay with all of us. As we settled into what was going to be an extremely long day she made her disdain and irritation very clear. She was all about setting the tone early. For the sake of this story I will call her Gertrude.

We started the lesson with the history of France at King Clovis. I actually found the materials interesting. But I’m a history geek so there is that. Gertrude had quite a few zingers. In spite of all her bitterness I found her to be quite funny. We are all adults and some of us grandmothers (me) but she insisted on referring to us as “mes enfants” my children. I am probably older than she is truth be told. After reprimanding one young man for seemingly dozing off she continued on with her lesson. The day marched on at a better pace than I imagined that it would. After a short coffee break in the morning, the lessons continued on with the French monarchy. After that was the lunch break. Smoked turkey and cheese on a baguette along with apple compote was passed out to everyone. I shoved mine in my tote since I had brought my own lunch for the day. Ironically I had smoked turkey and cheese as well. Except I had mine on sliced Harry’s seven grain bread. I had also brought sliced pineapples and mangoes, vanilla yogurt, some Belvitas and a handful of Michoko candies that I shared with a few of my classmates. We settled just outside of our building in a sunny spot on a ledge and proceeded to picnic it while we got to know each other a bit better. We are all immigrants to France and we all have our stories.

Just as conversation got a bit more lively, Gertrude appeared to shoo us away with a threat of the police for being too loud. Apparently the classrooms where under an apartment building which would explain the smell of curry permeating everything at 8:45 am. Gertrude scowled at us, pushed the trash can into the doorway, then locked the door to prevent us from returning too soon. So we gathered what was left of our lunches and took a stroll through the nearby park.

After lunch we filed back into the dingy, poorly lit classroom to continue or lessons. Gertrude passed out our validated papers; proof that we did indeed attended our mandatory instructions to proceed with the process of becoming French. My seat mate corrected Gertrude on the correct pronunciation of her first name. Not just once but thrice. I informed her she was quite brave for having done so that boldly. By this time we were at WWII. When asked what started the war I decided against raising my hand and let Gertrude teach on with her exclamation of Hilter! I know that’s a touchy subject in France so I hung back. Gertrude asked the question “what does it mean to be of an inferior race”? I sucked in my breath and whispered “ race doesn’t exist”. Im sure the gentleman sitting in front of me didn’t hear what I said or chose to ignore it because he began explaining about skin color and eye color and on and on and on… I sank lower in my seat. I could see the vein beginning to throb on the side of Gertrude’s head as he continued his diatribe about race. When he finally finished. He puffed out his chest as if he’d won the big prize on The Wheel of Fortune. I closed my eyes and waited. Gertrude did not disappoint. She explained to sir that his explanation would get him 4 years in prison and a hefty fine in France and to basically take his racist views elsewhere. I’m not sure if that’s the truth but I knew that kind of thing is a huge faux pas in France. Gertrude explained that we are one race. The human race. There are different TYPES of humans but we are all human. That no matter our outward appearances when we make offspring, that we make a human baby. I learned this early on when I first moved to France. My then fiancé explained to me that race is something that is not taught here. I believe that we all have preferences of what we like when comes to anything that has varieties, but truth be told, that doesn’t make any one variety any better than the next. There are a lot of things that I miss about the US at times. The division and the hate speech is not one of them. I was brought up to believe that we are more the same than different. That as a human I’m capable of doing whatever I am capable of doing. There should not be barriers to my achievements based on my not being someone else’s preference.

I sat back up in my seat having dodged the bullet of Gertrude’s ire. The class continued. We finished the day listening to some French musicians then bid our adieux.

I like the melting pot that is Paris. I like the energy of it all. I am an American in Paris. Not a black American. Not a female American. Not a senior American. Just an American… that will soon be French as well. An American/French person and that is all.