I
called a friend a few days ago to ask whether she was one of those who had
gathered at the Place de la Republique (and Nation) in Paris to reconsecrate France's triune of
'values' - celebrating free speech and racial diversity. Incisively,
and with all the Gallic passion she could muster, she told me that she wasn't
interested in the march and was not by any means 'Charlie' - a la
Charlie Hebdo.
Why, I asked? She said the magazine had been racist towards black people: a black female politician – the country’s justice minister, no less - was depicted as a monkey in an edition of CH. To her, this was an extremely offending caricature of a black woman, of black people. This had given me pause. I am uberliberal, if not ultraliberal, a fierce advocate of free speech, artistic freedom, etc. I told my friend I would like to see the cartoon before making any judgment.
However, before I searched for the cartoon, I called on the foreknowledge that artistic expression in France can be so liberal, even to the point of crude offence. For instance, no British writer, however 'mad' the persona he projects, would write about other races like Michel Houellebecq does. I shifted in my seat a bit while reading what Houellebecq - or his alter ego - thinks of Africans in his subnovella, Lanzarote. But then, I reasoned: this is satire, a savage one, written by a dour, glum and sour misanthrope. In the book, Europeans are not exactly dressed in clothes of glory - clothes of garish gold, maybe because, as you would imagine, the rich Europeans call the touristy shots on the decadent island of Lanzarote.
Anyway, when I put the phone down, I googled the 'offending' cartoon and immediately saw the point of the young woman's pique. An androgynous effigy - the black minister, Christine Taubura - glared at me with slightly-spaced simian eyes, ear-to-ear jumbo lips, not to mention the distinctly tableau-ed signature tail, ruggy coat, cornrows, and dangling from her earlobes are 'jungle loops' which recall the sort of 'tribal' bling the baleful black mistress of Kurtz wears in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Well, I told myself, I can easily understand my friend's reluctance to embrace 'Charlie.'
You have to be black to know that the 'monkey' jab is not often a laughing matter for the person at the receiving end of it - the connotation comes with a lot of stereotypical baggage, a relic of late 19th century systematic inferiorisation of the black race. Darwin was made out as a monkey in the years following the publication of Origin - but then that was Mr Charles Darwin, and an argument can even be made for the religious blockheads who cartoonised Darwin as a monkey that they were only trying to lampoon the theory of evolution, of which they had a profound misunderstanding.
Almost two decades ago, I tried to trivialise the monkey slur in an essay, arguing that, with my understanding of evolutionary biology, I was no more a monkey than any of my Nordic human cousins, that we might as well be living on a 'planet of the apes.' The problem with my attempt at meliorating, or ‘owning,’ the monkey tag is that my Nordic human cousin does not have to be constantly reminded about his kinship with monkeys.
Far more often in mainland Europe (than in the UK, where they live), Africans, or darker-skinned people in general, are still mocked, insulted and vilified with the monkey slur. Italian footballer Mario Balotelli has had to deal with it both on and off football pitches. In a popular Belgian magazine, Barack and Michelle Obama faces were photoshopped into a most overcontoured primate-mugs. So, it was no surprise that Christine Taubura was morphed into a monkey in the Charlie Hebdo skit.
Why, I asked? She said the magazine had been racist towards black people: a black female politician – the country’s justice minister, no less - was depicted as a monkey in an edition of CH. To her, this was an extremely offending caricature of a black woman, of black people. This had given me pause. I am uberliberal, if not ultraliberal, a fierce advocate of free speech, artistic freedom, etc. I told my friend I would like to see the cartoon before making any judgment.
However, before I searched for the cartoon, I called on the foreknowledge that artistic expression in France can be so liberal, even to the point of crude offence. For instance, no British writer, however 'mad' the persona he projects, would write about other races like Michel Houellebecq does. I shifted in my seat a bit while reading what Houellebecq - or his alter ego - thinks of Africans in his subnovella, Lanzarote. But then, I reasoned: this is satire, a savage one, written by a dour, glum and sour misanthrope. In the book, Europeans are not exactly dressed in clothes of glory - clothes of garish gold, maybe because, as you would imagine, the rich Europeans call the touristy shots on the decadent island of Lanzarote.
Anyway, when I put the phone down, I googled the 'offending' cartoon and immediately saw the point of the young woman's pique. An androgynous effigy - the black minister, Christine Taubura - glared at me with slightly-spaced simian eyes, ear-to-ear jumbo lips, not to mention the distinctly tableau-ed signature tail, ruggy coat, cornrows, and dangling from her earlobes are 'jungle loops' which recall the sort of 'tribal' bling the baleful black mistress of Kurtz wears in Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness. Well, I told myself, I can easily understand my friend's reluctance to embrace 'Charlie.'
You have to be black to know that the 'monkey' jab is not often a laughing matter for the person at the receiving end of it - the connotation comes with a lot of stereotypical baggage, a relic of late 19th century systematic inferiorisation of the black race. Darwin was made out as a monkey in the years following the publication of Origin - but then that was Mr Charles Darwin, and an argument can even be made for the religious blockheads who cartoonised Darwin as a monkey that they were only trying to lampoon the theory of evolution, of which they had a profound misunderstanding.
Almost two decades ago, I tried to trivialise the monkey slur in an essay, arguing that, with my understanding of evolutionary biology, I was no more a monkey than any of my Nordic human cousins, that we might as well be living on a 'planet of the apes.' The problem with my attempt at meliorating, or ‘owning,’ the monkey tag is that my Nordic human cousin does not have to be constantly reminded about his kinship with monkeys.
Far more often in mainland Europe (than in the UK, where they live), Africans, or darker-skinned people in general, are still mocked, insulted and vilified with the monkey slur. Italian footballer Mario Balotelli has had to deal with it both on and off football pitches. In a popular Belgian magazine, Barack and Michelle Obama faces were photoshopped into a most overcontoured primate-mugs. So, it was no surprise that Christine Taubura was morphed into a monkey in the Charlie Hebdo skit.
So am I Charlie? It is easy to pipe up the pat parrot-cry of ‘Je suis Charlie,’
but now, days after the heinous murder of the journalists and
cartoonists, I think I might very well allow myself a lag of deliberation
before giving an answer. Of course, the monkey cartoon is not in the best of
tastes (often cartoons are not); one might even hazard that its author, Charb,
the late editor of Charlie Hebdo, was rather insensitive to the vicious
overtones of the monkey gibe; after all, there are a dozen ways to reimagine a
black woman than making a monkey of her. Cartoons, however serious the moral
intention might be, should be stippled with a lightness of touch, and it is
rather curious that Charb did not pay any attention to the dead hand of racial
ridicule and historical dysphemism at the heart of setting out a black person
in the guise of a monkey. But would I storm the offices of Charlie Hebdo to
‘avenge’ my race? Certainly not. I would even be careful about labelling Charb
a racist – shall we say he had a crass sense of humour? If he had not been
killed by the Brothers Koauchi, I might very well (if I knew him) have a
reasoned chat with him about why exercising a sage sense of proportion when it
comes to the matter of race should not be equated with being a wimp. But then
he would still be within his rights to disagree with me (more likely).
Something which has become clear about Charlie Hebdo is that it is more
limits-bucking, laisser-aller than left-wing or liberal, and though its
cartoons might carry a certain streetiness, CH is no street-living hugger, its journalism
is posh ‘yellow’, and it is not in the business of sparing the feelings of the
‘minorities.’
Even though there are now conscionable highlights of the disparate coverages of
the Paris murders (saturation reporting) and the massacre of hundreds of people
by Boko Haram in Baga, Nigeria (footnote reporting), I am yet no less Charlie
than any of the girls kidnapped by the Nigerian terrorists, because what
Charlie now represents in a broader, universal and human sense, is Freedom, or
the struggle for Freedom, free speech, free association, freedom to belong and
not belong to a religion, and a protest against religious extremism, pious
censorship etc. I wouldn't have had any problem marching through Boulevard
Voltaire in Paris if only for Voltaire’s humanist declaration: ‘I do not agree with what
you have to say, but I'll defend to the death your right to say it.’
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