Tag: EU referendum

  • The great replacement

    Translated from the French by Sarah Ardizzone.

    No one can fail to notice that the way we get our news is changing. Print newspapers are dying; Facebook is now the biggest online platform for news. Although this might seem excitingly democratic, there is a big danger that we each retreat into our own little bubble. That we see only what we want to see. We build walls around our communities of interest. What does this mean for Europe? Well, in my case, I am privileged to know a group of young journalists who are fighting this kind of insularity in France.

    It all began with the Bondy Blog, an honest and ambitious initiative by a group of journalists from the Swiss magazine L’Hebdo.  After the international shock caused by the 2005 riots in the French ‘banlieues’ (migrant suburbs), the Hebdo journalists wanted to go and see what was really happening – out there, on the ground. They decided to be somewhere in that reality: that somewhere was Bondy (in Paris’s north-eastern suburbs), on an estate called the Cite Blanqui.

    In my view, the proper job of journalists is to make sure the public sees the reality of what’s happening, and this means that journalists need to dive in, rather than watching from afar. It sounds simple enough, but few journalists dare to do this, and fewer still take the time it requires.

    Today, nearly 12 years later, the blog is run by a local team of young journalists from multi-racial low-income neighbourhoods, and hosted by the website of the French daily newspaper Libération. Its televised format, The Bondy Blog Cafe, is broadcast on LCP (the parliamentary channel): this features a group of young people interviewing, with rare sensitivity, a different political personality each episode.

    This on-the-ground style of journalism is non-sensationalist; instead, it focuses on the ‘sensation’ of what it feels like to live in these neighbourhoods – all this makes a big difference.

    My first contact with Bondy Blog was when I met two (very) young members of the team, barely fifteen at the time: Mehdi Meklat and Badroudine Saïd Abdallah. They had come to interview me following the publication of my second novel, Dreams from the Endz. And I’ll never forget their fresh and lively approach, the relevance of their questions and, above all, the way in which they understood my answers. Theirs was a deep understanding.

    Later on, I got to know Mohamed Hamidi, who edited the Blog for a while and who these days makes feature films, the most recent being La Vache, a poetic and unifiying family comedy which has been a popular hit.

    In 2009, I remember following the weekly column of another Faïza, Faïza Zeroulala: we didn’t just share the same name, but also the same sense of humour and the same taste for words.

    As I followed these young people’s output, over time, I felt that we were like-minded, especially in our desire to re-appropriate the subjects that spark public debate. We wanted to set the record straight, to make our truths heard, to tell the story differently, to make sure the public sees something else. For me, this happened in my novels, for them, in their articles.

    When I hooked back up with Mehdi and Badrou, they had a slot on the public radio station France  Inter as columnists on the programme of the excellent journalist, Pascale Clark, who had spotted them… on the Bondy Blog, of course.

    Mehdi and Badrou write with four hands and speak with one voice. I was a fan of everything they did.

    On the publication of my fourth novel, Men Don’t Cry, I was a guest on the programme, and I was very touched when they decided to dedicate their entire slot to me. That same day, I had the privilege of introducing them to Elisabeth Samama, my editor at the time, and she offered to publish their first novel, which appeared a year later: Burnt Out.  (This is the personal journey, behind the human interest story, of an unemployed Algerian man who immolated himself in front of his regional job centre after warning the centre’s directorate by email. In order to understand this desperate gesture, Mehdi and Badrou had to imagine everything, and the result is a magnificent novel).

    That’s what I mean by above and beyond, again and again – always.

    This year, in February, Bondy Blog ‘occupied’ the Pompidou Centre in Paris, for a week of programmed events specifically aimed at teenagers stuck in Paris during the holidays. I led a fiction-writing workshop.

    The Bondy Blog team’s can-do attitudes, vision and talents are all about wanting to play an active role in our era, through images, words, art and beauty, via an approach that’s grounded in reality and that offers a fresh vision.

    I am now involved in a new collaborative project called Teleramadan, which is reinventing what a magazine can be. Its creators are Mouloud Achour, producer, interviewer and director of Clique.tv, and Mehdi et Badrou (who’ve already had a heartfelt introduction from me).

    I’d urge you to download the magazine, and read its editorial on Teleramadan.fr. Today, more than ever, we continue to be actively engaged, despite a negative and hostile climate in which fear and pessimism have gained ground. It’s a matter of urgency that the public has the opportunity to see, to read and to understand – so that we don’t let ignorance and fear win. It is for that reason we’ve adopted the nauseating concept initiated by the extreme right in France, that of the ‘Great Replacement’, a contemporary theory about the barbarian invasions. Yes, we want to be the ‘great replacement’, but according to our own definition of what ‘great replacement’ means.

    “We are the present. We are the Great Replacement of an archaic system, which no longer speaks to us and has never considered us as its children. We are radical in our ideas: we will go to the ends of beauty. We will write when you want us to be quiet, and fight when you’ve decided it’s time for us to sleep. We will reclaim our place, which has been taken by those authorised to think for us. We only wish to speak in OUR name. About OUR tastes and OUR colours. We are the Great Replacement of a generation that is active online to counter the cheap shots. We are artists, manning the frontlines alone, ready to take on every battle. We are the rebels of a society that no longer knows how to look itself in the eye, or to listen to those beating hearts.”

    Visit the Bondy Blog.

    Read more about Dreams from the Endz and download a free reading guide to the book on the World Bookshelf.

  • Am I a European writer?

    I’m a Danish writer. I’m not a Danish writer.

    Two statements equally true. How can it be? I was born and grew up in Denmark, have a Danish passport, and write my books in Danish. So de facto in terms of national definitions: I’m a Danish writer. Yet I don’t feel Danish. My mother is Austrian, my father half-German. Language emerging from culture, my more dramatic Slavic temper has never resided well within the limits of Danish laid-back wordings. And since the age of 23 I’ve mainly resided outside of Denmark.

    As we didn’t speak German at home, I didn’t grow up bilingual. Rather than German, English became my second language, and when I was a teenager, through the books I read in their original language, through the films, the music, it became my emotional language. The lack of sensual breadth in the Danish usage of language pushed me to choose another. And though until recently I still wrote all my fiction in Danish, I’ve felt the Danish language to be a constant challenge for the hot-bloodedness of my heart. My pen has had to make sentence structure-loops and grammatical twists which would be correct in the eyes of no Danish teacher, but which were necessary to express the stories of my mind in this straightforward Scandinavian tongue, not fit for Alpine crevices and ravines.

    From early on I was continuously told by my editors that my books are ‘so un-Danish’ – something I’m not sure was meant as a compliment, but which a bit defiantly (or perhaps purely out of necessity) I decided to take as such. Not only did I write in a tempestuous language, my subjects were often far from the Danish mainstream agenda (genocide in the Balkans, or ethics in modern contemporary art and life), and even my characters had far-flung (from Danish) origins. Realizing that this ‘un-Danishness’ would always undermine any attempt I might make at being ‘a Danish writer’, I finally – after my fourth novel or so – accepted it.

    But then what identifying label should I use?

    Originally educated a macro-economist, I became a full-time writer in 1995. I have worked for the EU and United Nations across the globe, from Dar es Salaam, Maputo and Dhaka to Brussels, Milan and New York. Thus, I would prefer to say simply ‘writer’, with ‘citizen of the world’ implicitly understood. But for those who wish to put my books on a regional shelf, ‘European’ at least feels much less wrong than Danish. After all, the conglomerate that is Europe today carries an almost endless range within it.

    The literature which has formed me is no more Danish than I am: my inspirations come from as far afield as Faulkner and Gogol, Achebe and Laxness, Cortazar and Hamsun, from Cervantes to Camus, Mahfouz to Woolf. I have taken advantage of the writer’s privilege of choosing my favourite teachers across the centuries, spanning Shakespeare and Dickinson, over Hardy to Jeannette Winterson, Dante over Canetti to Calvino.

    To the question ‘What is my Heimat?’ I have no answer. New York is my favourite city, that most multicultural place of all, with room for everyone. Yet, the Atlantic being too wide for comfortable commutes, I’ve recently moved back to Europe, this time choosing an all new home-base in Elsinore, at the edge of Scandinavia where the North Sea meets the Sound headed for the Baltic Sea. A corner of Denmark that breathes the very universe, echoing the secret truth which is that the contents of my bookcases are probably my true Heimat.

    Having always worked closely with all my translators, and occasionally making culture- and language-specific adjustments, it’s perhaps no surprise that a few years ago I started a process which would become a major ongoing work: fully adapting one of my books to the history, culture and geographic specifics of each country where it is published. War – what if it were here tells an imagined reversal of the refugee crisis (centred on a family fleeing their war-torn European country), and depends upon its readers being able to identify with the characters. When the book had its first translation in 2011, into German, I knew an entire rewrite would be required; I’ve now done 12 country-specific adaptations with more to come. Some of my editors have told me that this has never before been done in the history of literature. Yet, I simply did it because it felt right, because the story demanded this level of adaptation, of empathy. Perhaps it is also a reflection of the fact which is the essence of being multicultural: to be understood you have to always be ready to adapt yourself to whatever culture you navigate within at any given moment. You are, always and everywhere, your own interpreter.

    By now we are so many millions who have more than one culture – bi-, tri, quatro-or more – that it feels increasingly nonsensical to use the limited national labels of human identity. This is particularly true in a field such as literature, where all writers in their souls essentially belong to universal humanity over and above any nationality. Yet, it’s how the world of literature is still organized: how bookshelves are categorized in the bookshops, how prizes and awards are given, how invitations to panels at book festivals are classified. How you will find us listed in the encyclopaedias, the Wikipedias.

    Danish being an incongruity for me, even an impossibility – I do embrace the wider river of the regional. I am a European. I am a writer.

    Am I a European writer?

    You be the judge.

    Janne Teller CREDIT Anita Schiffer-FuchsJanne Teller is a critically acclaimed and best-selling Danish novelist and essayist of Austrian-German family background. She has received numerous literary grants and awards, including the prestigious American Michael L. Printz Honor Award for Literary excellency. Her literature, that circles around existential questions of life and civilization and often sparks controversial debate, is today translated into more than 25 languages. Janne Teller has published six novels, including the existential Nothing that, after initially being banned, is today considered a new classic by many critics. Janne Teller is also a human rights activist, and was one of the initiators of the 2013 Writers Against Mass Surveillance campaign. She is a member of the Jury of the German Peace Prize.

    Photo credit: Anita Schiffer-Fuchs