A post has been percolating in my over-taxed brain on the theme of comprehension for a few weeks now, and I almost set out to write it last night. I'm glad I didn't. Much more important things need to be discussed on that very same topic.
To me, in my quotidien life, comprehension has a very basic, uncomplicated meaning. Essentially, do I comprehend the French language? This has been my intellectual priority for the past year, and it's especially crucial now that I attend classes, read scholarly works, and write papers all in French. My measure as a contributing member of society is conducted in French. Rather than a constant ascent on a scale of completely lost to easily fluent, my experience of learning and living in a foreign language has been a range of valleys and climbs, dips and flights. I've found that one of my great inner motivations is that I'm never satisfied with my level. After every encounter, I think of ways I could have improved, areas in which I could have employed a better tense or structure to add clarity. The music of the French language is enchanting, and I relish the guttural r's and the almost whistled quality of the [ɥ] sound, like in je suis. All these rules I learned in college phonetics classes I now apply to my everyday communication.
All of this seems somehow so far away in the face of last night's attacks in Paris. As with any violent attack in the West, my mind struggled to synthesize the place with the act. Paris is so close. France is my adopted country. The French are my neighbors, classmates, friends. With so much gun violence in the US lately, I've been happy to be residing in a country where the average citizen doesn't keep a gun "just for safety." The Charlie Hebdo attacks in January shattered the illusion that France is a peaceful paradise, and since then I've been coming to some alarming conclusions. Usually this blog is about my own personal experience living as an expatriate, and as such, is usually benign in content. I don't wish to be inflammatory, but I feel that my antipathy towards the rampant political correctness in the US (and even a little in France) is now urging me to write how I truly feel about certain things.
When people ask me what it's like to live abroad, there are always a few details I leave out. One of those main details is my growing sense of mistrust of foreigners. I feel very small admitting this, but we don't live in the cocoon of America where the immigrants are generally peaceful and hardworking. I overgeneralize mostly out of ignorance as my American experience comes from a privileged East Coast upbringing. In any case, because we live in the third largest city in France, we see many people of Middle Eastern and African descent who have not been Westernized. This, in and of itself, is fine. I'm not one to question the personal choices of those who may dress a little differently than me or speak a different language, but otherwise are peaceful, law-abiding humans. However, as a foreigner myself, I also feel a bit defensive admitting my feelings. The political right is not friendly to immigrants because of the violence they sometimes bring into French society. This could directly affect me. I asked the French government to allow me to live and study in France, and they have put their trust in me, as a foreigner, to respect the laws and culture of France. I realize that as an American, it's much easier for me to be granted a visa (which, thankfully, I was), and this distinction would classify me as an expatriate rather than an immigrant. A foreigner, however, I remain.
France has been the target of violence for a reason. Another detail I often leave out of my personal recount of living abroad is my deep approval for la laïcité, which is the legal separation of church and state. From this stems the ban of religious iconography in public spaces (like schools, courts, etc.), sometimes known as the "burka ban." In the US, religion is a protected banner of personal definition, especially in the political media farce. This absolutely confounds me. The development of democratic society in both the US and France are closely linked, and neither is founded upon religion. As an atheist, this fact gives me great comfort. If I were to be judged in a court of law in either country, it would not be some popular fictional work that would determine my fate, but a carefully cultivated set of laws that I've agreed to follow as an American citizen and French visa-holder. I have not agreed to abide by the laws of any religion, and that is my crucial right. This fact is the dividing point on which much of the recent violence is based.
I often read flaming missives on the subject of Islamaphobia being racist. This is simply illogical. Islam is not a race, it is a religion. In a civilized society, all religions, political views, philosophies, works of literature, art, music should be subject to criticism at any time. This is also a protected right under both American and French law. If you can choose to be something, I can choose to criticize it. What I cannot criticize is the color of your skin or your gender. Unfortunately, different races and genders are already at a great boiling point of division in our global society. Why do we insist on adding labels that continue to deepen that divide? Why do we so actively seek to bolster our own incomprehension of our fellow humans? This is why I think la laïcité is so incredibly important. In a public school, for example, those chosen labels are stripped away, and nothing is left to divide other than those attributes we can't change. It's easy for me to comprehend that someone has a different skin color than I, and I see the value of that human being as being no more, no less than my own. It's not easy for me to comprehend why a person would choose to adhere to any religion that has a history or contemporary practice of violence, intolerance, and oppression.
I don't feel small admitting my incomprehension of religion. I think organized religion is dangerous, exploitative, immoral, and overall harmful to progressing in a civilized society. What I don't like to admit is that every time I see someone in typical Middle Eastern attire, or hear Arabic being spoken, I feel a moment of fear. Intellectually, I understand that a terrible, violent sect of a religion does not represent all adherents. I know people of all religions who are good, peaceful, and fully respectful of others. But I also know that many religious texts espouse violence, and that's where my comprehension halts. When I see a woman in some variation of hijab, I fail to comprehend how she can celebrate a religion that oppresses her very rights as a human. I felt the very same discomfort when I came to my own conclusions of atheism after being raised Catholic. How could I respect myself as a woman if I practiced this religion that sought dogmatic clemency from the perceived feminine sin of my very conception? I would also note that the 9/11 attacks occurred when I was at the incredibly impressionable age of 11, and it was that event that sealed my then rudimentary and simplistic decision that there is no higher being.
Until I lived in France, I would have immediately come to the conclusion that the striking apparel choices of someone are none of my business. With the recent violence in France, however, I find it increasingly difficult to divorce religious stereotype from my personal views of average people on the street. If it's politically correct not to criticize religion then I don't care to be PC. Religion is man-made and thus subject to criticism. However, I do not have the right to express my criticism violently. I don't agree with or comprehend certain religious practices, but I most certainly comprehend the intrinsic value of human life.
Now more than ever, I believe we should take to criticizing violent religious zealots and religion itself. We should strive to create a society that is open to different interpretations of humanity and culture; a society that celebrates difference as the vehicle to comprehending various experiences of the human condition. I don't need to believe in the same god - or any god - to appreciate the beauty of falling in love, listening to an exquisite piece of music, sharing a delicious meal with friends, listening to the stories of those from other cultures. My personal beliefs are not a threat to what anyone else believes so long as we all agree to a degree of criticism and a degree of respect amongst ourselves. I would almost argue that the French are more religious than Americans (countless Catholic holidays shutter French schools and businesses throughout the year), but discretion is far more important to the French than flaunting their beliefs.
Every day, I better understand how the French think and conduct themselves. My comprehension grows as I continue to learn the language and interact with the people. I've been feeling more and more comfortable with my daily comprehension, but last night's attacks in Paris have reminded me that comprehension is a broad concept and perhaps not totally achievable. If only we could take away divisive religious labels, maybe our intra-species comprehension would be that much more attainable. The heartbroken idealist in me wishes for world peace, whatever that may mean, or at the very least never having the fear of being gunned down for what I believe.
