I was born and raised in Algeria (gasp), I also grew up in Canada. This is nothing exceptional right. What seems to suprise some people here in France is that I take pride in this, as you may call it, double culture. Some people are not able to grasp more than one unique identity. Their perception of life is sometimes rigid and simplistic, as if you need to choose one or another: either communitarianism and rejection of values from the host country, wich often lead them to secularism and intolerance ; OR, assimilation and rejection of their heritage, wich also tend to intolerance. As if two cultures are impossible to blend together. It’s either white or black. Actually, I don’t consider myself having a double identity. I don’t even see myself reduced to two cultures. I had the chance to live in the multi-cultural Montreal and take my cues from all kind of cultures. I guess I am a pure product of my family and societies’ education and experiences. I would never feel like a 100% Canadian, as I don’t feel like a 100% Algerian anymore. In fact, I don’t feel like a 100% anything. I feel like me, having my own personal identity that defines my own self and no one else. That’s how I am comfortable with it. I certainly went through a cultural clash the first years when I arrived in Canada as a teenager. I felt overwheled by this brutal change of environment but I adapted. I never chose one or another nationality according to who I spoke to neither. I simply am both Canadian and Algerian and to me, it’s not so hard to conceive.
Here in la Cité interntionale universitaire de Paris, I get often asked where I come from. I unsually answer Canada, because that’s where I last came from directly. Plus, Canada is my home. I usually feel their surprise, as if they don’t believe me. Why? Because: 1) “I don’t look like it” (they probably think that Canadians are all, like Swedish, blond-blue eyed). 2) Because I don’t have the Quebec accent. That’s when I add that I also am Algerian, that I always spoke French and that I never wanted to pick up the accent, and so on. My answer is usually followed up by a “oooohh I see”. I don’t give a flying fuck about what that’s supposed to mean but I have an idea: they might be thinking that I was trying to hide my origins, when it’s actually due to the fact that I don’t always want to develop on my life history, giving a five minute answer everytime I get that question. Maybe I’m paranoiac, but that’s how I interpret it. People are always disturbed to see someone that dosen’t conrrespond to their prejudice. So if people just need to be conforted, maybe next time I should invent a country and pretend that I’m from this imaginary place.
I recently attended a show of Biyouna, a famous Algerian artist. Before the opening of the show, I have witnessed a pathetic behavior in the audience. The usher was trying to sit the last spectators arriving. On my left, there was these two girls and next to them, the last seat of the row was free. The usher asked all of us -politly- to switch from one seat, three times. I stared at these girls on my left. The biatches putting a face on, ignored her and refused to move. One of the last arriving spectators asked herself, one last time, more rudely. The two biatches finally moved their big asses, not whitout whining: “We say PLEASE!” – “I shouldn’t have left her [talking about the usher] an euro tip!”… Then these biatches kept on laughing like cows during the whole show. All this attitude seemed so fake to me. On the way out, we were discussing that with my French friend. Why these idiots, with such a state of mind, would attend a show of Biyouna, who’s a humoristic, cool, progressive and provocative (for her time and society) artist? Biyouna often mentioned Algeria during her show. They obviously loudly applauded. Were they trying to prove something by this behavior? Were they trying, in a way, to prove they were Algerians by over doing it? By being tempered, reactive, proud and exuberant more than the Algerian natives themselfs (to the point where they were just obnoxious)? Maybe I’m wrong but from my point of view, this is an example of complex due to an identity crisis… Even though life is much simpler when we’re just being ourselves. And no matter who we are, some people are going to love us and some others, just hate on us aniway.


Love story
14 JanDessin:
(c) Farid Benyaa
www.farid-benyaa.com
Le site Bloginy invite les blogueurs algériens à publier un article autour du thème « Agir pour l’Algérie ». Agir, quelque chose que les Algériens ne savent plus faire, dans un pays traversé par un siècle de violences sans nom. Alors maintenant, les Algériens agissent surtout en paroles.
Les Tunisiens fêtent aujourd’hui le premier anniversaire de leur « révolution ». Ils portent encore un espoir presque naïf. Voilà longtemps que l’Algérien, trahit, usé, ne croit plus au changement. L’Algérien n’espère plus rien. Il n’aspire qu’à partir coûte que coûte. Tout sauf ça, même la mort.
C’est que l’Algérien aime l’Algérie mais il ferait tout pour la quitter. Il aime l’Algérie surtout lors de RDV footballistiques (enfin, lorsque c’était encore possible). Il entretien une relation d’amour/haine avec son pays (un peu comme entre la France et l’Algérie). Et plus l’Algérien est loin, plus il aime son pays… la nostalgie, c’est normal. Je parle de nostalgie, pas de repère identitaire maladif comme c’est le cas avec les Beurs qui n’ont que l’Algérie dans la bouche, alors que tout ce qu’ils connaissent du bled sont les quelques semaines de vacances passées là-bas.
L’Algérien veut aimer l’Algérie mais il n’aime pas les Algériens. De toute façon, l’Algérie ne l’aime pas non plus. Car la trahison est la première tragédie de ce pays.
Mais de quelle Algérie on parle déjà ? Il n’y a pas d’Algérie mais des Algéries. Il y a l’Algérie des années 60-70, l’Algérie de mes parents. Quand ils se remémorent leur jeunesse, je peine encore à croire qu’il s’agit du même pays. Ce n’était pourtant pas si loin. L’Algérie de cette époque, je ne la connaît qu’à travers les épisodes de l’inspecteur Tahar. Une époque où les amoureux pouvaient se promener sur la plage main dans la main. Une époque où une fille pouvait se promener en short sans se faire lyncher. Une époque où « celui qui veut aller à la mosquée va à la mosquée et celui qui veut aller au bar va au bar » et-puis-c’est-tout. Une époque où le passeport algérien était le plus respecté au monde… ya hasra!
Moi je suis née la même année que le Code de la famille. Autant dire que je suis plutôt mal tombée. L’Algérien de ma génération (la « génération années 90 ») ne connaît que la merde. Il ne reste de ce patriotisme que des sentiments ultranationalistes stériles prôné par un pouvoir qui n’a d’autres solutions à proposer. Ces idéaux portent un nom: le « nif ». Mais à quoi ça sert le nif ?
On dit que l’espoir fait vivre. Mais que fait-on quand il n’y a plus d’espoir ? L’Algérien n’a plus rien à attendre de la vie, de ce pays et de ses politiciens qui eux-même ont l’air malheureux (mais ça c’est normal, quand on a vendu son âme au diable…) Alors en attendant de retrouver la force d’agir, l’Algérien préfère rêver sa vie, rêver de ce pays imaginaire où il fait bon vivre, à défaut de ne pouvoir en sortir, de digager.
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Tags: Algérie, Changement, DZBlogDay, Espoir, Guerre, Jeunesse