Friday, February 5, 2010

Lifting the veil



A week back or so, a French parlimentary panel issued a scathing report calling for a ban of the Burqua, the head-to-toe garb worn by many Muslim women. This came on the heels of a ban of headscarves in schools (actually all religious clothing, but most thought it was aimed at the headscarf), which most people outside of France deemed an attack on Muslim values by the French government.

Interestingly, France is known around Europe for having one of the more open immigration policies in the EU, and in fact, it has more immigrants than your average EU member. This is especially true of Muslim immigrants. There is somewhere on the order of 4-5 million Muslims in France, largely from North African origins, the majority of whom are black.

Now this is just one foreigner's opinion, but I think you could say that France is also known for being one of the more racist countries in the EU, as the riots of 2005 attest to.

Coming from a country with an atrocious racial history of its own, and being a white male, I've always been pretty cognizant of how issues of race can make some topics at best awkward (like race and how it relates to sports) and some topics downright doused in fuel (affirmative action).

In the States, everyone generally tiptoes around this stuff.

In France, for better or worse, they don't. Racial tensions are handled with a far less delicate touch here.

To play this diplomatically, I will say that I'm not entirely sure where I fall on all this headscarf/burqua broohaha. The French argument is twofold - First, they say that in order to immigrate to France and gain French citizenship you need to embrace French values. In other words you can come, but leave your culture at home. This seems at least reasonable to me, but vastly different from the States, where we tell immigrants to come as you are and we'll just blend it all together. We are the "melting pot" after all. Secondly, the French argue that the burqua lends itself to the oppression of women, and that, they claim is also not in sync with French values. I also can get behind this.

On the other hand, freedom of religion strikes me as an imperative in any society.

But what has been most fascinating to me as a foreigner, is not so much the issue itself, but the different manner in how it's handled here. The French are so brusque in their assessment of Muslim culture, and their objections to the burqua are loud and impassioned.

In America, where we tend to be loathe to offend, I just think it would be so much more delicately handled. More awkwardly also. I'm not saying one approach is better or worse, but boy is it different.

So the next time your in Paris and your French waiter gives you the silent treatment for some unintended and unknown assault on his culture, just be happy you weren't wearing a burqua and know that brusqueness is their way - they can't help it.

Thursday, February 4, 2010

Pendaison de crémaillère



We are such slackers! Sorry, sorry, sorries all around. We we're partying! We had our housewarming soirée last weekend, and lo and behold found out that we apparently know a ton more people in Paris then we realized. At one point we had probably twenty people over! Which confirms that our new apartment is significantly larger than our old apartment as twenty people would never have fit into the old place. Best of all, we had my buddies Larry and Natasha in visiting from the U.S. to boot.

For those who want a little language lesson, a housewarming in France is called a crémaillère which is actually a notched hook of sorts that used to go up in the chimney. The cooking cauldron would be hung from it, and depending upon which notch it was hanging from you could adjust the amount of heat hitting the cauldron. Because you couldn't cook before the crémaillère was hung, you would usually have your friends and family over to cook a little something when you finally got it up, and thus, Pendaison de crémaillère (hanging of the crémaillère)became the French equivalent of having a housewarming party. Hilariously, our neighbors, who it turns out also just moved in, had their crémaillère the same night, so we had a bunch of temporary, highly-confused French guests who walked in for a second before realizing they were in a den of expats and quickly high-tailing it to the correct party à côté de notre appartement.