existabovethenoise

Great things have come from France. For example, we have Pierre L’Enfant, who died in time to let Benjamin Banneker take the lead on Washington, DC. This is the same L’Enfant who was fired from the planning of Paterson, NJ (not good enough for Paterson, but perfect for the nation’s capital? err?). We also have my personal favorite, French fries. Apparently they actually started in Belgium, but the French win the gold ribbon for taking credit and running with it this long. And last, but not least, Parisians gave us Christian Louboutin. I’m a huge fan of any man who can tickle me pink, while I paint the town red. He truly is the elixir whenever I’m poutin. So, with so much admiration from afar, why is it that we just can’t seem to get along?

Well, I decided to go to Paris to get to the bottom of this Atlantic Ocean east coast, west coast rivalry. I consulted all the experts – the taxi drivers and hoteliers, the Christians and the Muslims, the academics and the free lancers. And I came up with just a short list.

Americans hate because:

There’s no way to make English sound sexy. Not an Aussie or a Brit, a New Zealander or an American can purse their lips to make the mundane sound as if you’re just repeating the words “Zsa Zsa Gabor” with varied tone and inflection. I personally am not a huge fan of the French language, but I will say that whatever they say sounds important, pressing and sensual. I’m sure the taxi guy was just telling me to fly a kite, but it’s cool – just keep talking Frenchie.

The French protest because they want to work less. Americans protest because they want to work more. (Read: The French come off as lucky, whiny ingrates.) Dare I say, the French approach is downright against American values. It’s one thing to camp out on a well trafficked bridge or in a homeless camp because you can’t work—but the French take to the streets, because their secure government jobs make them show up to work… and expect that they produce… something… anything. There is a lot of jealousy raging here. What government employee doesn’t want to take to the streets on a work day to demand more benefits? The French are ballsy. We talk about it, they be about it. Ain’t that ‘bout a [je ne sais quoi]?

French hate because:

The French language stopped being politically relevant about the time the Princesses Nubiennes album dropped. (Read: Before the turn of the only century that counts – this one!) In diplomacy, English reigns supreme. In second grade classrooms the world over, the new second language is Spanish. The French are proud of their culture enough to take this as a personal slight. Oh well… having to close your nose, talk through your teeth and spit on your peers – is nobody’s idea of fun. At least they have the majority of Africa and some Caribbean islands still hot on their heels.

The jury is still out on whether or not quality of life is better between the two countries. So, barring a clear French victory, that’s a U.S. win by default. While the mid – late 20^th century Black emigration of greats like Nina Simone and James Baldwin counts for something, it’s hard to find any one in Paris who thinks that life in the 21^st century is better there than in any major American city – say, New York or Los Angeles. Some doubt that in the U.S. the French Elle article “Black Fashion Power,” would ever have been printed. This gives cause to re-examine French superiority. It could have happened in the U.S., but the very thought that it might not have… keeps the French hating on the greener grass of Black American pastures.

With that said, it’s hard to see what the beef’s about. Perhaps, we’re just both chicken- coo cooing about cultural vulnerabilities that have evolved over time to become whatever our imaginations will allow. Paris has an allure that looms larger than the Eiffel Tower. (And as it turns out, when I finally saw it up close – I was not all that impressed.) As my grandma so eloquently put it, “Paris is like Newark.” She really said that – and while it still makes 99.999% of no sense whatsoever to me, that remaining smidge holds true.

When I broke bread with other ninjas in Paris and swapped stories, I think we both gained some insight into the experience of the other half…The homeless and the rude, the pushy and the unfriendly, the smiles of no substance – they are what major cities are made of; and the personalities of major cities are what national imaginations are made of. But once you break it all down, we’re more similar than we think and that’s probably why we hate so hard from a far. Opposites attract, not kinda similarly passive aggressive personalities.

I’m pretty sure that by the end of dinner on Place du Docteur Félix Lobligeois, we all left with a mutual understanding of each others’ experiences and an even more grounded appreciation of our own countries. Just the thought of living in Paris had me mumbling “that sh*t cray” into my Moët.

About February’s guest blogger: Tracee Thomas is a 20-something Caribbean-American educator and entrepreneur from New Jersey. She recently made freedom her choice and spends her days writing on the beaches of Dominica. She is passionate about seeing young African Americans reach their potential. She is the founder and creative director of Empress Movements International, a marketing company that works to celebrate the contribution of people of the African Diaspora. The opinions and views expressed in this Post are exclusively the writer’s own.

This morning, I took my first rain water bath. Yup, it’s exactly what it sounds like. See here in Dominica (not to be confused with the Republic), everyone puts their old barrels outside to collect rain water to use if when they (meaning the government) “take di water,” as they call it here when the government owned water company pulls the water supply for sometimes as long as 48 hours. Sometimes it’s the water. Sometimes the island will not have eggs or fish (how an island doesn’t have fish, I haven’t quite figured out yet). Other times, it’s just a completely archaic method of providing service. At almost all times, it is the antithesis to the quick fix, Burger King, have it your way lifestyle I grew up with in America. Despite the fact that both my parents were born on this island, my father asks me everyday how in the world I can tolerate this level of “backwardness.”

But for me “backward” is relative. Before I left the States, I was tired of the “backward” way in which students who needed the most were given the most inexperienced teachers and the worst resources. I was tired of the backward way in which I feared getting sick because of the cost of healthcare. I was tired of the backward ways in which people kept trying to convince me that going into debt to obtain an education, or to obtain a roof to put over my head was normal. I was tired of the inexplicable boundaries that seemed to follow me because of the color of my skin and the gender God decided I would be.

This place, despite all of its inconsistencies and complexities, is where I have felt more freedom than any other place in the world. This place is far from perfect, but it is also far from the only reality I used to know. It is impossible to come to a place that is so vastly differently than everything you are used to, and not become self aware, not to realize the potential for change, and come to peace with the balance in between. To experience a place where everything you eat is literally grown around you, and there is food in such abundance that at times it covers the ground like leaves in the fall, to see families who have survived for generations in a house the size of the bedroom I shared with my sister growing up, who are perfectly happy and quite generous, to wake up every day to the sound of a river across the street, a view of the mountains from my front window, and a view of the Caribbean sea from the back, there is no way I can be here and not be reminded of how simple life really can be. Of how easy it is to put people first. To make our priorities something other than the acquisition of material things and titles. We spent so much of our time in America aspiring to astounding heights. Jumping from one milestone to the next, in some cosmic 100-meter dash, to become the first… the most… the best. Most of us don’t even know what race were running, only that someone set us on the hamster wheel and we thinking we’re on an Olympic track, running for the gold.

It feels great to be out of the rat race, even if only temporarily and I’m grateful to fellow members of my tribe like Ms. Nafeesah who are circumventing the hamster wheel as well. It is up to our generation, the so called Millenials, or for Black folks, the great grandchildren of the Black Power babies, grandchildren of the buppies and the crack generation, for us to define the legacy we are creating for ourselves and leaving for those behind us. Older generations have tried to convince us that that reflection is a luxury for the rich and/ or white. As if exploration is not our birthright (ask Ivan Van Sertima what we were up to long before Columbus!). But we who grew up under the rubble of 9/11, graduated into the recession that rivaled the Great Depression, watched our parents struggle to provide, still retire fearful of inflation and Medicare, know differently. We saw our parents’ version of the American dream tumble like the prices of their homes and the value of their 401 K, if they were lucky enough to have either in the first place. It would be a crime for us to continue to march into the same slow death. It is necessary for us to pause, to reflect, to define success and freedom and follow our definition, wherever it may lead.

The world is ours. As an educator, I’ve learned that the single most impactful way to teach is through comparing and contrasting. There is no reason why we still have to be limited to anyone else’s predetermined Dream. If we are to learn a new way, to do something different, to author a new dream that is more inclusive of our truest desires, we must begin by experiencing an alternative. We owe it to ourselves. Wall Street will be there. Your career will be there. The place that you grew up in, have known your whole life, it is not going anywhere. Take the time while you are healthy, young, and forming the values that will guide you for the rest of your days to go out and challenge everything that you know to be so you can stand firmly in your convictions before you pass them onto to your children. This year, in honor of Black History Month, I encourage you to apply for your passport. If you already have a passport, throw a dart at the map and choose a location to visit this year. If money is looking a little funny, reprioritize. If my momma could raise a family of 4 on what most of us are making coming straight out of school, there is no excuse for us, other than what we choose to do with our money instead. Make freedom a priority. Stop living the American Dream and create your own reality, best experienced when you are fully awake.

You can read more from Tracee at www.memoirsofanempress.wordpress.com.