Franco-Maghrebine Attitudes: Frigid Shores on the Mediterranean

Port of Essaouira, Morocco (Photo by Riccardo Maria Mantero, CC BY-NC-ND 2.0, via Flickr)

‘Il y a un ennemi simple: c’est la France’ (‘There is one, single, enemy, and that’s France’). So goes the narrative across the Maghrebine political sphere, claimed Emmanuel Macron on a diplomatic visit to Algeria in August of 2022, one touted by many, including the freshly re-elected president, to ‘re-establish’ relations between the two countries after the Algerian government’s removal of their ambassadors to France in 2021. Rather than take responsibility or address the remarks that led to this dismissal, having accused the Algerian government of fomenting ‘hatred towards France’ a scant few months before the 60th anniversary of the country’s war of independence from his state, Macron chose to double down, labelling widespread hostility to the dismissive attitude taken by the French government towards its Maghrebine counterparts as mere ‘carabistouilles’ (‘nonsense’). The president’s remarks are admittedly not unfounded: Morocco and Algeria, ranking 135th and 134th on the global Press Freedom Index respectively, have hardly shown a conciliatory attitude towards Franco-Maghrebine diplomacy. Nonetheless, in an era of violent police suppression against cries for Corsican independence and the ongoing ostracization of both the Outremer territories and French citizens of Maghrebine descent, the president’s recent claims to ‘[ne pas demander] pardon à l'Algérie’ (‘[not ask for] forgiveness from Algeria’) would appear rather suspect.

Perhaps the best example of the frigid attitude shown by the French administration to their Maghrebine counterparts is the series of obstacles faced by many North African immigrants in France today. This was explained to me in April of last year on a terrace in Montpellier, one of the most international cities on France’s Mediterranean coast. The conversation was with three friends of mine: Sarah and Jade, two French girls of Berber and Algerian descent respectively, and Aya, originally Moroccan, all studying together on the same law course. Aya, now a third year student on an extremely unpredictable student visa, narrates the difficulties she’s had since arriving three years ago. After going through more than fifty prospective landlords who each demanded a visa guarantee from the same administration that was requiring a guarantee of accommodation, she finally found a place to live on the outskirts of the city - only to encounter the blatant integrated racism experienced by so many immigrants in the South. One recent example, difficult to discuss without a mixture of laughter and shock, was the mayor of Béziers’s recent attempt to close down several kebab shops in the city in a proclaimed ‘anti-terror’ initiative. Above and beyond all of this, however, for Aya, has been the overwhelming dismissal shown towards her case by French immigration. ‘Just keep coming back,’ she says, advising how to negotiate a non-European student visa. ‘Just let them know you’re not going away.’

After hearing Aya’s stories of coming back day after day to the same office, often just to ensure her case was even seen to, I was embarrassed and a little ashamed to repeat the complete opposite experience I’d had on the exact same visa; one of an open and straightforward, if at times incompetent, bureaucracy. This double standard is not unique to the administrative sector: although nationality cannot be disclosed on a job application in France, a recent survey in 2021 across eleven different industries and 2600 positions found that candidates holding a surname of North African origin were 31.5% less likely to even be invited to interview. The persistence of this issue in spite of the ostensibly ‘race-blind’ application system in France highlights the limits of this approach, and the persistent racialised bias that has gone unchecked in French equality law.

Unfortunately, France’s culture of alienation towards Maghrebine people does not end in the public sphere. Jade, another student of Moroccan Berber descent, reports the peculiar scenario of growing up both as a typical Berber - pale, brown-haired, blue-eyed - and a white-passing French girl. After relating to many of Aya’s experiences with the everyday racism experienced by many in the poorer parts of the South - fetishisation on dating apps, patronising uni professors, and a variety of microaggressions - she goes on to describe the issues that have arisen with her own family. When discussing the maternal, Moroccan, side of her family, particularly those who remain closer to their roots back home, the strains on the relationship have always been there. ‘You know, because I’m mixed, because I can’t speak Arabic,’ she explains over a drink one night. ‘I mean, some people don’t even like my name.’ On this point, Aya chuckles and nods to me. ‘It’s a boy’s name, back home.’ Though much of this gets talked about casually between drinks, it’s still notably difficult to engage with her own cultural heritage, and the issues caused by her LGBT identity have certainly not helped with this. For the moment, the best way of coping is to drink, smoke, and laugh, while showing me designs for the traditional Berber tatouage she hopes to get one day.

This attitude is not limited to one side of the Mediterranean. When discussing her experiences with France before moving there, Aya narrates the frigid attitude taken by many Maghrebines to those of North African descent visiting from France. ‘They want to be really traditional and proud of it, Algerian liberation shirts and everything, but people there find it kind of weird. It’s not how we do things, now.’ Sixty years on from the Algerian War, and the ostensive end of France’s involvement in North Africa, it seems there is little hope for reconciliation between the three cultures, even amongst the people undergoing this exact same racial discrimination today, and certainly no conciliation oncoming from Macron. Despite the recent restoration of diplomatic relations with both Algeria and Morocco in December 2022; in light of the recent hate comment ‘Retourne en Afrique’ (literally, ‘go back to Africa’) hurled by one deputy to a speaker across the French assembly floor, the government’s refusal to engage with this legacy smacks of an overwhelmingly white administration’s attempts to minimise their own cultural failings. For the most recent successor of Charles de Gaulle, fighting to preserve an ageing colonial attitude in what looks to be maybe the last presidential term of the Fifth Republic, the French government’s attitude towards its Maghrebine links in this defining new era will remain crucial to its reputation both at home and in the Global South.