Algerian | Lebanese
My Father was born and raised in Lebanon as a Christian Maronite and my Mother is of Algerian Sunni descent from her parents but was born and raised in France. She used to spend her summer holidays in Algeria or ‘bled’ as we call it.
French, Lebanese & Algerian is always what I say when people ask me where I’m from. It just comes naturally to me now, as if I was stating my name, but being this straightforward only dates back to when I started university in the UK four years ago. When you're surrounded by international students constantly, it just becomes a socialising routine. People ask you where you're from, you answer with what feels right, and they're just genuinely curious. In most cases, no challenge, no outrage.
I've had a few ‘no, you're so wrong, you should identify as a citizen of the world’ but it has always been less painful than when the disdain came from a French person. I remember having this ‘conversation’ with a French guy who wasted 30 minutes of my time explaining to me how I should identify with an argument that could basically be reduced to: ‘You identify as more than French, therefore you are not thankful enough for what this country has done for you, therefore you do not deserve to be called French’.
It is painfully exhausting to constantly have to justify your own existence and the particularity of your individuality, history and experiences.
When it comes to my Lebanese and Algerian identities, it has been complicated too. My Lebanese identity has always been tied to religion and to the Christian Maronite community my Father has grown up in. The holy book you read and the rites you follow define the political party you vote for, for my Father's generation at least. And during the civil war, it defined who would support you or want you dead within and outside the national borders. That's something my Dad likes to remind us, my brother and I, but we've grown up in such a different environment that it seems irrational to us. Our survival doesn't depend on it. And if you look at the younger generation that has been protesting in the streets since last October in Lebanon, it seems like Lebanon's survival now relies on the extinction of its confessionalist system.
My Algerian identity has been passed down to me by my Mother and her family. My Mother wasn't born in Algeria like my Father was born in Lebanon. She was born and raised in France as a Muslim as my Grandparents left Algeria after the war of Independence. But being of Algerian descent in France is never well-perceived and I have seen my Mother being more and more uncomfortable with her own identity over time, almost hiding it as a way to better integrate or even assimilate, I think.
Both our parents have never spoken to my brother and I in their respective Arabic in the public space. It's also extremely limited at home, to the extent that we're missing a massive part of our culture which is language.
My parents are still having a hard time with the way I identify racially because it means emphasizing our otherness, and therefore not belonging. Race is a forbidden word in France. The first time I was asked to identify racially/ethnically was in the UK when registering for university. I knew I wouldn't identify as White. I selected Arab. Nowadays, I select Other. White is what we have been taught to aspire to and I have benefitted from Whiteness as a light-skinned and sometimes White-passing woman but the reality of my experiences has taught me otherwise. Arab doesn't make sense. It's not a race but an ethnicity and a people but the term ‘Arab’ doesn't recognise the particularity and the diversity that is present within the Arab-speaking world. Lebanon and Algeria have been Arabised linguistically but calling Lebanese and Algerian people ‘Arabs’ simply erases the indigenous identity of my people and reduces them to the identity of their coloniser who came from the Arabian Peninsula a long time ago without settling ethnically. This is a controversial subject though.
I am trying to make space for myself as much as possible. This involves setting up my boundaries, with myself and others, taking time to rest, heal, recover. My studies are focused on identity formation so studying helps me navigating my own reality and my identities. I am engaging more and more with studies around the link between heritage, trauma and mental health, and I find strength in learning.
I am not sure my feelings matter as much in this particular case, if they matter at all. It is rather what I can actively do to ensure that the feelings of Black people are finally being given value. How can I use the privilege that White supremacy has granted me as a light-skinned person to dismantle the system at my own scale?
Food is a massive part of our home. The way you feed someone is the way you love them. The kitchen is where we spend most of our time as a family. Or the living room, but always with food on the table. Food is never lacking at home. My Mother is great at cooking Algerian and French food and taught herself essential Lebanese dishes. My Father always comes home with food he bought at our local Lebanese shop, always. So we greet him and start unpacking the bags and it's our favourite time in the evening, like a treasure hunt. Then we make snacks together and chat at the same time in the kitchen before and after dinner. It's like a ritual. When we have guests, it's even better. Meals extend for hours: the guest is royalty and should feel more at home in your house than yourself.
Then there is music. There's always someone singing or listening to music at home. My Father is a very secretive person but you'll know automatically how he feels by the way he sings or plays his guitar. It is his moment of peace, how he heals.
There's also language. The most precious words are said in Arabic. It's a way to communicate love beyond words. It's also in Arabic that arguments finish.
Being confronted with a traumatic experience due to your identity is never enjoyable but the worst part is when your experience is being trivialised or dismissed. But it also gives you the strength to build a safe space around yourself, confide in and trust people who listen and understand you.
If I had the opportunity to be reborn I would return as myself. My identity is complex in an empowering way and I couldn't be more grateful for what it has taught and given me.