Berkley Center

Like any other foreigner, I was initially awed and dumbstruck by Paris’ old-world, mystical, magical beauty—the lights, the river, the bridges, the gold, the commitment to history, the tangible absorption of centuries of ideas, art, and creativity. But Paris is a city like any other, with perhaps even more complicated, sensitive issues than other major metropolitan areas. Indeed, the problems facing Paris represent the major challenges that confront Europe as its twenty-first century evolution rapidly takes definitive form. Central to the web of identity issues that are sure to grow in scope in the next couple of decades, religion hits the focal point of Paris’ struggle to come to terms with the evolution of what “Parisian,” “French,” or “European” means. The de facto segregation of Parisian culture is most obviously an ethnic issue, and—in Paris, as opposed to the historic trends of segregation in the United States—ethnic issues mean religious ones.

Even after three months of living in Paris, I’'m still taken aback by the beauty of the city. Throughout the city proper, there is an osmotic diffusion of aesthetic romance. But, in this way, the “real” problems of modern city life are pushed to the borders of the city, and the center of Paris has none of the modern-day gritty character of a mashed-together complexity of people and problems. In Paris, these problems—problems of identity, ethnicity, language, and religion—do not necessarily infect the beauty of the Notre Dame or the elegance of the silhouette of the Eiffel Tower, but the tension is palpable.

The relegation of the city’'s Arab population to the suburbs is a now well-traversed topic, following the riots of 2005. As is the case with the global trend of religious extremism, social alienation has led to increased religious devotion in the marginalized Arab communities. In this way, religion is at the heart of Europe’'s transformation. “Arab” becomes “Muslim” and the un-Frenchness of the “immigrant” populations (so many of which are actually second of third-generation French citizens) doubles in scope. Ethnicity becomes ethnicity and religion.

In a November 2007 New York Times article, which appeared following the deaths of two teenage boys in a clash with police, a man in a snack bar in the Paris suburb of Saint-Denis described the rising suspicions by the police linked to fears of Muslim extremism. Following the quote with which I opened this essay, he added that, "“If you don'’t drink alcohol, you'’re dangerous.”" Similar to patterns seen in the United States with the rise of the Black Panther Movement and an academic commitment to Afrocentrism, segregation has –(not surprisingly) produced a commitment to, and pride in, immigrant culture, in decidedly strong opposition to traditional Parisian culture. Thus, any individual that doesn'’t drink alcohol is seen as a Muslim extremist, threatening the core values of historical French society.

Parisian culture is a centuries-old perfected craftsmanship. There are peculiarities and formalities that to Americans seem outdated and carry an air of pretentiousness. Even as a white American, with proficiency in the language and overlaps of culture and history, it’'s hard not to feel the enormous pride Parisians have in their traditions and culture. Social penetration—even for a white, non-religious, French-speaking American like myself—is essentially impossible. Such “outsider” status is wearing. I can only imagine how difficult it must be to be Arab or Muslim in this country, to wear your difference on your skin. For the marginalized populations, ethnic and religious difference has drawn a line in the way that many people define “Parisian.” Punctuated by experiences with high unemployment, government housing, and a police presence, difference reverts inward.