At the turn of the twenty-first century, memory was a recurrent theme in French songs about North... more At the turn of the twenty-first century, memory was a recurrent theme in French songs about North Africa. This painted the region as a place of the colonial past, diminishing its current relevance to France by occulting immigrant perspectives. In the early 2000s, ‘Adieu mon pays’, Enrico Macias’s 1962 song about a departure from Algeria upon its independence, continued to be the exemplar of the song about North Africa. However, songs from the 1990s by North African artists show different views on remembering the region. The dynamics of French and Arabic in songs by Rachid Taha and Khaled indicate that an underlying malaise with remembering North Africa can manifest in a disconnection between two perspectives rooted in two different languages, and Faudel’s 2006 song ‘Mon pays’ shows the limits of memory as a mode of engagement with the lands of origin for second-generation immigrants. Although we may not extrapolate historical claims from the surge of North African memories as a theme in French music in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, the context of the time can help us interpret lyrics about the region in song from this period.
Jounral of the African Literature Association, 2020
The study of North African literatures has been firmly rooted in francophone frameworks since the... more The study of North African literatures has been firmly rooted in francophone frameworks since the 1960s, an approach that perpetuates colonial categories of both space and language. It is thus imperative to continue to push the study of North African cultural production beyond the geographic and linguistic limitations of the so-called Francophone Maghreb. This Introduction outlines the history of the study of North African literatures, and suggests a series of under-studied questions critical to the future of the field. How do other languages in the region intersect with French? How do individual North African works and writers problematize monolithic definitions of nationalism and regional identities? How do authors in the diaspora experience their North African identities in new languages and new contexts? How do the literatures and cultural productions of the Maghreb relate to the rest of Africa, and to other spaces such as the Middle East and the Mediterranean? These questions provide the thematic grounding that unites the articles of the current Special Issue, and evoke further avenues of expansion for the field of North African studies.
When Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika announced in February 2019 that he would seek a fift... more When Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika announced in February 2019 that he would seek a fifth term, the people took to the streets in protest. This sparked the Hirak, an ongoing popular movement that ultimately resulted in the withdrawal of Bouteflika’s candidacy. In March 2019, during the early stages of the protest and before Bouteflika’s withdrawal, a video of a young man reacting candidly to the situation in the country went viral on social media. A phrase he used to express his frustration with the political elite, ytnahaw ga’ (meaning remove them altogether), became a salient slogan in subsequent protests. The language dynamics in the video show the continued relevance of unresolved language issues in the country, and suggest that part of the movement’s aspirations are not only political, but cultural as well.
Nadir Moknèche’s Viva Laldjérie (2003) is one of a number of films that mark as well as chronicle the turn of a new leaf in Algeria. It was shot in Algiers at the onset of the twenty-first century, when the previous decade’s civil war meant that images of Algeria on screen had become associated with news of violence rather than movies. As the characters in Viva Laldjérie confront the trauma of war and their personal losses, they speak almost exclusively in French. Arabic remains conspicuously absent except for three specific instances during the film. Outside of these three instances, only a few words are perceived in the background. The circumstances of each use of Arabic indicate an evolution in the characters’ relationships with their pain and suffering following the shock of the war. French, in this context of Algerian civil war, becomes a language that allows a form of detachment from one’s own country for Algerians facing violence.
The start of the 1980s marks Djebar’s return—after a decade-long absence—both to writing in general and to the French language in particular. If the 1970s stand out in her bibliography as a conspicuous gap in productivity, the circumstances of this gap are well-documented. Djebar has written about this period in her work indicating that she thought that she could write in Arabic. Yet, Arabic written by her would never appear in print. In 1980, she published Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartement, soon followed by a series of novels, all in French. At first look, it seems as though Assia Djebar eventually forsakes her unfruitful Arabic experiment for a definitive return to publishing in French. However, her Arabic experiment did bear fruit, and her output in that language did see the light of day, only it was on screen, rather than on the page. Those familiar with the Algerian author’s oeuvre know that the 1970s’ gap in her bibliography corresponds to her foray into filmmaking, which yielded two films. These films will also remain her only works that are not in French. If Djebar did not write in Arabic but made a film instead, then how is filmmaking, in her case, a more suitable medium for Arabic expression than writing? In order to begin answering this question, I focus on the first of her two films, The Nouba of the Women of Mount Chenoua (1978), and articulate my analysis of both the film and its circumstances around the interrelated notions of aphasia, diglossia, and what I call arabophonie in Algeria. The last of these notions merits qualification straight away. The term arabophone is generally used in the objective sense of speaking Arabic. However, I intend it to convey the same connotation that francophone carries. Just as postcolonial implications of margin and centre result in francophone signifying not quite French, the Maghreb can be arabophone also in the sense of not quite Arabic. As to diglossia, while commonly addressed in the discipline of linguistics, and central to studies of Arabic within that field, it is, in this case, also relevant from a literary perspective. Nevertheless, it is necessary to start by considering the role of Nouba in Djebar’s work, and the role of speaking for the main character, or, as it happens, not speaking, which I designate as aphasia. This choice of word is not innovative by any means. Djebar herself used it as part of a chapter title in L’Amour, la fantasia (1985). By asking how is film a better suited medium than writing for Arabic expression in Djebar’s case, what I submit is that aphasia became essential to Djebar’s work specifically in its ties to Arabic, and the language’s position in Algeria at the intersections of French, Tamazight, and a broader Arabic-speaking region. APHASIA Nouba is a traditional form of urban music in the Maghreb, with its roots in Arab Spain, which is why it is sometimes also called Andalusian. The word nouba has entered French in its musical sense to mean a loud, carnivalesque revelry. However, it carries another meaning, still prevalent in the original Arabic, signifying ‘turn’ or ‘opportunity’ (as in take a turn, or get an ‘opportunity’ or a ‘chance’). This double meaning is intentional, and the women’s nouba in the title carries both senses of ‘women’s song’ (implying their song in their own voice), and ‘women’s turn’ (implying their turn to speak). The connection between the sense of ‘turn’ and the musical form is based on the trilateral root ن.و.ب, meaning representing (or acting as representative), it is also etymologically related to substitution and deputation or proxy. The titular nouba suggests that it is literally their turn to speak after they were overlooked by history, and their voices silenced, which is consistent with Djebar’s role as a historian. However, it is not enough to get a turn to speak, one needs a voice to speak with. In the other sense, of nouba, Lila substitutes the women of the Cherchell area’s voice for her own. With their turn to speak, they give Lila a voice as much as they are given one, and they represent her as much as the film represents them. Nouba is the facto the porte-parole of these women. DIGLOSSIA It is important to stress the difference between the two varieties of language that constitute Diglossia. Because these varieties are situational and socially-governed, they can easily be mistaken for tone or register, and diglossia can be misunderstood when the focus is only on the social factors that regulate the situations in which H or L is used. However, the differences between the two can be very pronounced, resulting in what may seem like two different languages, each with its own grammar, lexicon, and phonology. The implications of likening varieties of a language to separate languages can be highly inflammatory and politically laden. My purpose, however, is merely to indicate the apparent difference between H and L Arabic. Most importantly, however, it is essential to keep in mind that speakers of a diglossic language are not necessarily proficient in both varieties. While the L variety is acquired the way any language is acquired, namely through speaking to children, H is achieved through formal education. This difference in acquisition is crucial. Using H or L is not necessarily a social choice, but a privilege of the literate. The first implications of this privilege for Nouba should be immediately apparent when taking into account the literacy rates of Algeria in the 1970s. According to UNESCO, and based on a 1971 census, the illiteracy rate in Algeria was 73.6% for segments of the population aged fifteen and over, and illiteracy among rural women specifically for that age group was 94.0% (1978, 42). While the literacy of the women in the film is unverifiable, the illiteracy rates among women in rural Algeria at the time were high by any standard. These women, speaking L Arabic only as a result of illiteracy, literally and very tangibly do not have a say in situations where the use of H is required. Consider, for instance, that parliament and political speeches are examples of some of these situations where H is used. ARABOPHONIE When taking into account the perceived superiority of certain varieties of Arabic, arabophonie, in this context, is analogous to what the term francophonie connotes, which is precisely not quite French. Arabophone, then, suggests a perceived inferiority in comparison to other varieties of Arabic. To clarify this analogy, I propose to focus on one crucial feature of francophonie, which is that it always entails the significant existence of at least one other language alongside French. Whether it is Wolof or the many other languages of West Africa, a Créole in the Caribbean, English in North America, Dutch or German in Europe. Naturally, the situation in each of these regions is considerably more complex than I am sketching here. However, the consistent feature that differentiates France from francophone countries or regions, is that in France only French is imagined to exist, regardless of the factual existence of other languages. In contrast, when French-speaking societies are francophone rather than French, the existence—officially acknowledged or not—of some other idiom is essential. Similarly, arabophonie is demarcated by the apparent presence of one or more other languages in the region or society. It is the appearance of a presence of another language that is the significant feature here, rather than its actual presence. Defining Arabophonie as the fact of speaking Arabic in a bi- or multilingual context acknowledges the alleged inferiority of certain varieties of Arabic based on the belief that the presence of other languages in the region is corruptive, whether this belief and the hierarchy that it implies are adhered to or not. As such, it is different from a rivalry between regions (each claiming their variety of Spoken Arabic being closer to Fussha for example), but acknowledges without necessarily condoning the dynamic between an Arabic centre and a periphery, and the ensuing discrimination against, and/or paternalist attitudes towards, literary and cultural production in certain varieties of Arabic over others. In this sense, when one does not adhere to the language attitude that arabophonie describes, it remains possible to condemn and reject its hierarchical implications, or denounce the marginalization, silencing, or snubbing of the other languages that make it arabophone rather than Arabic. Algeria is arabophone in that at least one other language is perceived to exist alongside Arabic. This is a fundamental difference between the Maghreb and other Arabic-speaking regions. In the Maghreb, the presence of French is obvious. In fact, often what defines the Maghreb as a region, is precisely that it is the three former French colonies of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia. This makes it francophone, but, consequently, arabophone also. However, if The Maghreb is obviously arabophone given the existence of French as a result of colonialism, Tamazight (the Amazigh language also known as Berber) compounds the complexity of the diglossic situation in Algeria, and plays an even more important role in making the region arabophone rather than strictly Arabic. Although the women of the Cherchell area speak in Dardja with Lila, they are also Amazigh, making Dardja presumably their second language, and Tamazight their first.
chapter in *Vitality and Dynamism: Interstitial Dialogues of Language, Politics, and Religion in ... more chapter in *Vitality and Dynamism: Interstitial Dialogues of Language, Politics, and Religion in Morocco’s Literary Tradition*. Ed. Salma Kristin Bratt et al. Leiden University Press, 2014.
Hergé’s adventures of Tintin have been translated to over 80 languages and dialects, including Arabic. Yet, only one of the stories that see Tintin travel to the Arab World were translated or made available in Arabic. What is exceptional about this story, and why were the others not deemed fit for an Arabic version? The editorial choices made by the Arabic publishers of Tintin’s albums—even when this choice is to not translate them—are revealing not only of issues pertaining to the representation of the language in Hergé’s works, but also of peculiar cultural challenges in exposing one of Belgium’s most recognizable characters to Islamic and Arabic-speaking audiences. This essay examines the ways in which Arabic and those who speak it are represented in the adventures set in the Arab World, in order to explain the challenges standing in the way of an Arabic edition of those albums. Moreover, its study of the Arabic that Hergé included in the original Tintin books written in French contributes to scholarship about Hergé and his art in general, and more specifically his realist tendencies, through an assessment of the accuracy of the Arabic he employed, and an analysis of the ways in which Tintin books can be experienced by bilingual readers (who know Arabic but read the books in French or English for example).
Although Frantz Fanon's writings were intimately tied to colonial Algeria, his reflections have f... more Although Frantz Fanon's writings were intimately tied to colonial Algeria, his reflections have found resonance among a wide variety of audiences because of their theoretical and ideological value. Possibly, Fanon's limited proximity to Algerian culture and society contributed to the relevance of his writings elsewhere. This essay argues that, in spite of Fanon's involvement in the struggle for Algerian independence, his position in North Africa remained that of an outsider.
Orientalist and colonial representations of harems have resulted in the association of North Afri... more Orientalist and colonial representations of harems have resulted in the association of North African women with domestic confinement. North African authors such as Assia Djebar (1980), Malek Alloula (1981) and Fatima Mernissi (1994), however, suggest that this view is biased. While focusing largely on Fatima Mernissi's memoir, Dreams of Trespass, this article builds on these authors' exploration of the various ways in which women of the Maghreb are portrayed, in order to provide a clearer understanding of the dynamics of women's space in the context of colonial North Africa.
Among China’s various Muslim groups, the Hui stand out on the basis of their ethnicity, history a... more Among China’s various Muslim groups, the Hui stand out on the basis of their ethnicity, history and location, and are considered unlike the Turkic groups in Western territories. The Hui are not confined to a definite region but are present throughout China, and exist in continuous juxtaposition with other groups. For this reason, they determine their identity by simultaneous associations to an exogenous tradition that differentiates them from other Chinese groups, and to endogenous elements that situate them as inherently Chinese.
This position of the Hui at the intersection of two presumably mutually-exclusive cultural spheres, namely Muslim and Chinese, results in mode of identity-formation, which I call alibism, and in which identity is founded on the basis of perpetual deferment to an alternative location.
Interview by Marcia Lynx Qualey for Chimurenga's Chronic.
For access, please click the link a... more Interview by Marcia Lynx Qualey for Chimurenga's Chronic.
The North Africa Caucus of the African Literature Association is seeking papers for a Special Iss... more The North Africa Caucus of the African Literature Association is seeking papers for a Special Issue of the Journal of the African Literature Association devoted to North Africa.
At the turn of the twenty-first century, memory was a recurrent theme in French songs about North... more At the turn of the twenty-first century, memory was a recurrent theme in French songs about North Africa. This painted the region as a place of the colonial past, diminishing its current relevance to France by occulting immigrant perspectives. In the early 2000s, ‘Adieu mon pays’, Enrico Macias’s 1962 song about a departure from Algeria upon its independence, continued to be the exemplar of the song about North Africa. However, songs from the 1990s by North African artists show different views on remembering the region. The dynamics of French and Arabic in songs by Rachid Taha and Khaled indicate that an underlying malaise with remembering North Africa can manifest in a disconnection between two perspectives rooted in two different languages, and Faudel’s 2006 song ‘Mon pays’ shows the limits of memory as a mode of engagement with the lands of origin for second-generation immigrants. Although we may not extrapolate historical claims from the surge of North African memories as a theme in French music in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries, the context of the time can help us interpret lyrics about the region in song from this period.
Jounral of the African Literature Association, 2020
The study of North African literatures has been firmly rooted in francophone frameworks since the... more The study of North African literatures has been firmly rooted in francophone frameworks since the 1960s, an approach that perpetuates colonial categories of both space and language. It is thus imperative to continue to push the study of North African cultural production beyond the geographic and linguistic limitations of the so-called Francophone Maghreb. This Introduction outlines the history of the study of North African literatures, and suggests a series of under-studied questions critical to the future of the field. How do other languages in the region intersect with French? How do individual North African works and writers problematize monolithic definitions of nationalism and regional identities? How do authors in the diaspora experience their North African identities in new languages and new contexts? How do the literatures and cultural productions of the Maghreb relate to the rest of Africa, and to other spaces such as the Middle East and the Mediterranean? These questions provide the thematic grounding that unites the articles of the current Special Issue, and evoke further avenues of expansion for the field of North African studies.
When Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika announced in February 2019 that he would seek a fift... more When Algerian President Abdelaziz Bouteflika announced in February 2019 that he would seek a fifth term, the people took to the streets in protest. This sparked the Hirak, an ongoing popular movement that ultimately resulted in the withdrawal of Bouteflika’s candidacy. In March 2019, during the early stages of the protest and before Bouteflika’s withdrawal, a video of a young man reacting candidly to the situation in the country went viral on social media. A phrase he used to express his frustration with the political elite, ytnahaw ga’ (meaning remove them altogether), became a salient slogan in subsequent protests. The language dynamics in the video show the continued relevance of unresolved language issues in the country, and suggest that part of the movement’s aspirations are not only political, but cultural as well.
Nadir Moknèche’s Viva Laldjérie (2003) is one of a number of films that mark as well as chronicle the turn of a new leaf in Algeria. It was shot in Algiers at the onset of the twenty-first century, when the previous decade’s civil war meant that images of Algeria on screen had become associated with news of violence rather than movies. As the characters in Viva Laldjérie confront the trauma of war and their personal losses, they speak almost exclusively in French. Arabic remains conspicuously absent except for three specific instances during the film. Outside of these three instances, only a few words are perceived in the background. The circumstances of each use of Arabic indicate an evolution in the characters’ relationships with their pain and suffering following the shock of the war. French, in this context of Algerian civil war, becomes a language that allows a form of detachment from one’s own country for Algerians facing violence.
The start of the 1980s marks Djebar’s return—after a decade-long absence—both to writing in general and to the French language in particular. If the 1970s stand out in her bibliography as a conspicuous gap in productivity, the circumstances of this gap are well-documented. Djebar has written about this period in her work indicating that she thought that she could write in Arabic. Yet, Arabic written by her would never appear in print. In 1980, she published Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartement, soon followed by a series of novels, all in French. At first look, it seems as though Assia Djebar eventually forsakes her unfruitful Arabic experiment for a definitive return to publishing in French. However, her Arabic experiment did bear fruit, and her output in that language did see the light of day, only it was on screen, rather than on the page. Those familiar with the Algerian author’s oeuvre know that the 1970s’ gap in her bibliography corresponds to her foray into filmmaking, which yielded two films. These films will also remain her only works that are not in French. If Djebar did not write in Arabic but made a film instead, then how is filmmaking, in her case, a more suitable medium for Arabic expression than writing? In order to begin answering this question, I focus on the first of her two films, The Nouba of the Women of Mount Chenoua (1978), and articulate my analysis of both the film and its circumstances around the interrelated notions of aphasia, diglossia, and what I call arabophonie in Algeria. The last of these notions merits qualification straight away. The term arabophone is generally used in the objective sense of speaking Arabic. However, I intend it to convey the same connotation that francophone carries. Just as postcolonial implications of margin and centre result in francophone signifying not quite French, the Maghreb can be arabophone also in the sense of not quite Arabic. As to diglossia, while commonly addressed in the discipline of linguistics, and central to studies of Arabic within that field, it is, in this case, also relevant from a literary perspective. Nevertheless, it is necessary to start by considering the role of Nouba in Djebar’s work, and the role of speaking for the main character, or, as it happens, not speaking, which I designate as aphasia. This choice of word is not innovative by any means. Djebar herself used it as part of a chapter title in L’Amour, la fantasia (1985). By asking how is film a better suited medium than writing for Arabic expression in Djebar’s case, what I submit is that aphasia became essential to Djebar’s work specifically in its ties to Arabic, and the language’s position in Algeria at the intersections of French, Tamazight, and a broader Arabic-speaking region. APHASIA Nouba is a traditional form of urban music in the Maghreb, with its roots in Arab Spain, which is why it is sometimes also called Andalusian. The word nouba has entered French in its musical sense to mean a loud, carnivalesque revelry. However, it carries another meaning, still prevalent in the original Arabic, signifying ‘turn’ or ‘opportunity’ (as in take a turn, or get an ‘opportunity’ or a ‘chance’). This double meaning is intentional, and the women’s nouba in the title carries both senses of ‘women’s song’ (implying their song in their own voice), and ‘women’s turn’ (implying their turn to speak). The connection between the sense of ‘turn’ and the musical form is based on the trilateral root ن.و.ب, meaning representing (or acting as representative), it is also etymologically related to substitution and deputation or proxy. The titular nouba suggests that it is literally their turn to speak after they were overlooked by history, and their voices silenced, which is consistent with Djebar’s role as a historian. However, it is not enough to get a turn to speak, one needs a voice to speak with. In the other sense, of nouba, Lila substitutes the women of the Cherchell area’s voice for her own. With their turn to speak, they give Lila a voice as much as they are given one, and they represent her as much as the film represents them. Nouba is the facto the porte-parole of these women. DIGLOSSIA It is important to stress the difference between the two varieties of language that constitute Diglossia. Because these varieties are situational and socially-governed, they can easily be mistaken for tone or register, and diglossia can be misunderstood when the focus is only on the social factors that regulate the situations in which H or L is used. However, the differences between the two can be very pronounced, resulting in what may seem like two different languages, each with its own grammar, lexicon, and phonology. The implications of likening varieties of a language to separate languages can be highly inflammatory and politically laden. My purpose, however, is merely to indicate the apparent difference between H and L Arabic. Most importantly, however, it is essential to keep in mind that speakers of a diglossic language are not necessarily proficient in both varieties. While the L variety is acquired the way any language is acquired, namely through speaking to children, H is achieved through formal education. This difference in acquisition is crucial. Using H or L is not necessarily a social choice, but a privilege of the literate. The first implications of this privilege for Nouba should be immediately apparent when taking into account the literacy rates of Algeria in the 1970s. According to UNESCO, and based on a 1971 census, the illiteracy rate in Algeria was 73.6% for segments of the population aged fifteen and over, and illiteracy among rural women specifically for that age group was 94.0% (1978, 42). While the literacy of the women in the film is unverifiable, the illiteracy rates among women in rural Algeria at the time were high by any standard. These women, speaking L Arabic only as a result of illiteracy, literally and very tangibly do not have a say in situations where the use of H is required. Consider, for instance, that parliament and political speeches are examples of some of these situations where H is used. ARABOPHONIE When taking into account the perceived superiority of certain varieties of Arabic, arabophonie, in this context, is analogous to what the term francophonie connotes, which is precisely not quite French. Arabophone, then, suggests a perceived inferiority in comparison to other varieties of Arabic. To clarify this analogy, I propose to focus on one crucial feature of francophonie, which is that it always entails the significant existence of at least one other language alongside French. Whether it is Wolof or the many other languages of West Africa, a Créole in the Caribbean, English in North America, Dutch or German in Europe. Naturally, the situation in each of these regions is considerably more complex than I am sketching here. However, the consistent feature that differentiates France from francophone countries or regions, is that in France only French is imagined to exist, regardless of the factual existence of other languages. In contrast, when French-speaking societies are francophone rather than French, the existence—officially acknowledged or not—of some other idiom is essential. Similarly, arabophonie is demarcated by the apparent presence of one or more other languages in the region or society. It is the appearance of a presence of another language that is the significant feature here, rather than its actual presence. Defining Arabophonie as the fact of speaking Arabic in a bi- or multilingual context acknowledges the alleged inferiority of certain varieties of Arabic based on the belief that the presence of other languages in the region is corruptive, whether this belief and the hierarchy that it implies are adhered to or not. As such, it is different from a rivalry between regions (each claiming their variety of Spoken Arabic being closer to Fussha for example), but acknowledges without necessarily condoning the dynamic between an Arabic centre and a periphery, and the ensuing discrimination against, and/or paternalist attitudes towards, literary and cultural production in certain varieties of Arabic over others. In this sense, when one does not adhere to the language attitude that arabophonie describes, it remains possible to condemn and reject its hierarchical implications, or denounce the marginalization, silencing, or snubbing of the other languages that make it arabophone rather than Arabic. Algeria is arabophone in that at least one other language is perceived to exist alongside Arabic. This is a fundamental difference between the Maghreb and other Arabic-speaking regions. In the Maghreb, the presence of French is obvious. In fact, often what defines the Maghreb as a region, is precisely that it is the three former French colonies of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia. This makes it francophone, but, consequently, arabophone also. However, if The Maghreb is obviously arabophone given the existence of French as a result of colonialism, Tamazight (the Amazigh language also known as Berber) compounds the complexity of the diglossic situation in Algeria, and plays an even more important role in making the region arabophone rather than strictly Arabic. Although the women of the Cherchell area speak in Dardja with Lila, they are also Amazigh, making Dardja presumably their second language, and Tamazight their first.
chapter in *Vitality and Dynamism: Interstitial Dialogues of Language, Politics, and Religion in ... more chapter in *Vitality and Dynamism: Interstitial Dialogues of Language, Politics, and Religion in Morocco’s Literary Tradition*. Ed. Salma Kristin Bratt et al. Leiden University Press, 2014.
Hergé’s adventures of Tintin have been translated to over 80 languages and dialects, including Arabic. Yet, only one of the stories that see Tintin travel to the Arab World were translated or made available in Arabic. What is exceptional about this story, and why were the others not deemed fit for an Arabic version? The editorial choices made by the Arabic publishers of Tintin’s albums—even when this choice is to not translate them—are revealing not only of issues pertaining to the representation of the language in Hergé’s works, but also of peculiar cultural challenges in exposing one of Belgium’s most recognizable characters to Islamic and Arabic-speaking audiences. This essay examines the ways in which Arabic and those who speak it are represented in the adventures set in the Arab World, in order to explain the challenges standing in the way of an Arabic edition of those albums. Moreover, its study of the Arabic that Hergé included in the original Tintin books written in French contributes to scholarship about Hergé and his art in general, and more specifically his realist tendencies, through an assessment of the accuracy of the Arabic he employed, and an analysis of the ways in which Tintin books can be experienced by bilingual readers (who know Arabic but read the books in French or English for example).
Although Frantz Fanon's writings were intimately tied to colonial Algeria, his reflections have f... more Although Frantz Fanon's writings were intimately tied to colonial Algeria, his reflections have found resonance among a wide variety of audiences because of their theoretical and ideological value. Possibly, Fanon's limited proximity to Algerian culture and society contributed to the relevance of his writings elsewhere. This essay argues that, in spite of Fanon's involvement in the struggle for Algerian independence, his position in North Africa remained that of an outsider.
Orientalist and colonial representations of harems have resulted in the association of North Afri... more Orientalist and colonial representations of harems have resulted in the association of North African women with domestic confinement. North African authors such as Assia Djebar (1980), Malek Alloula (1981) and Fatima Mernissi (1994), however, suggest that this view is biased. While focusing largely on Fatima Mernissi's memoir, Dreams of Trespass, this article builds on these authors' exploration of the various ways in which women of the Maghreb are portrayed, in order to provide a clearer understanding of the dynamics of women's space in the context of colonial North Africa.
Among China’s various Muslim groups, the Hui stand out on the basis of their ethnicity, history a... more Among China’s various Muslim groups, the Hui stand out on the basis of their ethnicity, history and location, and are considered unlike the Turkic groups in Western territories. The Hui are not confined to a definite region but are present throughout China, and exist in continuous juxtaposition with other groups. For this reason, they determine their identity by simultaneous associations to an exogenous tradition that differentiates them from other Chinese groups, and to endogenous elements that situate them as inherently Chinese.
This position of the Hui at the intersection of two presumably mutually-exclusive cultural spheres, namely Muslim and Chinese, results in mode of identity-formation, which I call alibism, and in which identity is founded on the basis of perpetual deferment to an alternative location.
Interview by Marcia Lynx Qualey for Chimurenga's Chronic.
For access, please click the link a... more Interview by Marcia Lynx Qualey for Chimurenga's Chronic.
The North Africa Caucus of the African Literature Association is seeking papers for a Special Iss... more The North Africa Caucus of the African Literature Association is seeking papers for a Special Issue of the Journal of the African Literature Association devoted to North Africa.
The verb to have does not exist in Arabic. It is expressed using the verb to be, and عند, which m... more The verb to have does not exist in Arabic. It is expressed using the verb to be, and عند, which means “at.” So instead of saying “I have a car,” for example, you would say “a car is at me.” عندي سيارة
I call verb "patterns" scales, because I like to think of them more like musical scales (that you... more I call verb "patterns" scales, because I like to think of them more like musical scales (that you could then transpose into different keys), plus "scale" is somewhat related to the original sense of the Arabic word أوزان [weights/measures] used to refer to these patterns/scales.
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Nadir Moknèche’s Viva Laldjérie (2003) is one of a number of films that mark as well as chronicle the turn of a new leaf in Algeria. It was shot in Algiers at the onset of the twenty-first century, when the previous decade’s civil war meant that images of Algeria on screen had become associated with news of violence rather than movies. As the characters in Viva Laldjérie confront the trauma of war and their personal losses, they speak almost exclusively in French. Arabic remains conspicuously absent except for three specific instances during the film. Outside of these three instances, only a few words are perceived in the background. The circumstances of each use of Arabic indicate an evolution in the characters’ relationships with their pain and suffering following the shock of the war. French, in this context of Algerian civil war, becomes a language that allows a form of detachment from one’s own country for Algerians facing violence.
http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/13629387.2016.1150183
Below are some excerpts:
The start of the 1980s marks Djebar’s return—after a decade-long absence—both to writing in general and to the French language in particular. If the 1970s stand out in her bibliography as a conspicuous gap in productivity, the circumstances of this gap are well-documented. Djebar has written about this period in her work indicating that she thought that she could write in Arabic. Yet, Arabic written by her would never appear in print. In 1980, she published Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartement, soon followed by a series of novels, all in French. At first look, it seems as though Assia Djebar eventually forsakes her unfruitful Arabic experiment for a definitive return to publishing in French. However, her Arabic experiment did bear fruit, and her output in that language did see the light of day, only it was on screen, rather than on the page. Those familiar with the Algerian author’s oeuvre know that the 1970s’ gap in her bibliography corresponds to her foray into filmmaking, which yielded two films. These films will also remain her only works that are not in French.
If Djebar did not write in Arabic but made a film instead, then how is filmmaking, in her case, a more suitable medium for Arabic expression than writing?
In order to begin answering this question, I focus on the first of her two films, The Nouba of the Women of Mount Chenoua (1978), and articulate my analysis of both the film and its circumstances around the interrelated notions of aphasia, diglossia, and what I call arabophonie in Algeria. The last of these notions merits qualification straight away. The term arabophone is generally used in the objective sense of speaking Arabic. However, I intend it to convey the same connotation that francophone carries. Just as postcolonial implications of margin and centre result in francophone signifying not quite French, the Maghreb can be arabophone also in the sense of not quite Arabic. As to diglossia, while commonly addressed in the discipline of linguistics, and central to studies of Arabic within that field, it is, in this case, also relevant from a literary perspective. Nevertheless, it is necessary to start by considering the role of Nouba in Djebar’s work, and the role of speaking for the main character, or, as it happens, not speaking, which I designate as aphasia. This choice of word is not innovative by any means. Djebar herself used it as part of a chapter title in L’Amour, la fantasia (1985). By asking how is film a better suited medium than writing for Arabic expression in Djebar’s case, what I submit is that aphasia became essential to Djebar’s work specifically in its ties to Arabic, and the language’s position in Algeria at the intersections of French, Tamazight, and a broader Arabic-speaking region.
APHASIA
Nouba is a traditional form of urban music in the Maghreb, with its roots in Arab Spain, which is why it is sometimes also called Andalusian. The word nouba has entered French in its musical sense to mean a loud, carnivalesque revelry. However, it carries another meaning, still prevalent in the original Arabic, signifying ‘turn’ or ‘opportunity’ (as in take a turn, or get an ‘opportunity’ or a ‘chance’). This double meaning is intentional, and the women’s nouba in the title carries both senses of ‘women’s song’ (implying their song in their own voice), and ‘women’s turn’ (implying their turn to speak). The connection between the sense of ‘turn’ and the musical form is based on the trilateral root ن.و.ب, meaning representing (or acting as representative), it is also etymologically related to substitution and deputation or proxy.
The titular nouba suggests that it is literally their turn to speak after they were overlooked by history, and their voices silenced, which is consistent with Djebar’s role as a historian. However, it is not enough to get a turn to speak, one needs a voice to speak with. In the other sense, of nouba, Lila substitutes the women of the Cherchell area’s voice for her own. With their turn to speak, they give Lila a voice as much as they are given one, and they represent her as much as the film represents them. Nouba is the facto the porte-parole of these women.
DIGLOSSIA
It is important to stress the difference between the two varieties of language that constitute Diglossia. Because these varieties are situational and socially-governed, they can easily be mistaken for tone or register, and diglossia can be misunderstood when the focus is only on the social factors that regulate the situations in which H or L is used. However, the differences between the two can be very pronounced, resulting in what may seem like two different languages, each with its own grammar, lexicon, and phonology. The implications of likening varieties of a language to separate languages can be highly inflammatory and politically laden. My purpose, however, is merely to indicate the apparent difference between H and L Arabic. Most importantly, however, it is essential to keep in mind that speakers of a diglossic language are not necessarily proficient in both varieties. While the L variety is acquired the way any language is acquired, namely through speaking to children, H is achieved through formal education.
This difference in acquisition is crucial. Using H or L is not necessarily a social choice, but a privilege of the literate. The first implications of this privilege for Nouba should be immediately apparent when taking into account the literacy rates of Algeria in the 1970s. According to UNESCO, and based on a 1971 census, the illiteracy rate in Algeria was 73.6% for segments of the population aged fifteen and over, and illiteracy among rural women specifically for that age group was 94.0% (1978, 42). While the literacy of the women in the film is unverifiable, the illiteracy rates among women in rural Algeria at the time were high by any standard. These women, speaking L Arabic only as a result of illiteracy, literally and very tangibly do not have a say in situations where the use of H is required. Consider, for instance, that parliament and political speeches are examples of some of these situations where H is used.
ARABOPHONIE
When taking into account the perceived superiority of certain varieties of Arabic, arabophonie, in this context, is analogous to what the term francophonie connotes, which is precisely not quite French. Arabophone, then, suggests a perceived inferiority in comparison to other varieties of Arabic. To clarify this analogy, I propose to focus on one crucial feature of francophonie, which is that it always entails the significant existence of at least one other language alongside French. Whether it is Wolof or the many other languages of West Africa, a Créole in the Caribbean, English in North America, Dutch or German in Europe. Naturally, the situation in each of these regions is considerably more complex than I am sketching here. However, the consistent feature that differentiates France from francophone countries or regions, is that in France only French is imagined to exist, regardless of the factual existence of other languages. In contrast, when French-speaking societies are francophone rather than French, the existence—officially acknowledged or not—of some other idiom is essential.
Similarly, arabophonie is demarcated by the apparent presence of one or more other languages in the region or society. It is the appearance of a presence of another language that is the significant feature here, rather than its actual presence. Defining Arabophonie as the fact of speaking Arabic in a bi- or multilingual context acknowledges the alleged inferiority of certain varieties of Arabic based on the belief that the presence of other languages in the region is corruptive, whether this belief and the hierarchy that it implies are adhered to or not. As such, it is different from a rivalry between regions (each claiming their variety of Spoken Arabic being closer to Fussha for example), but acknowledges without necessarily condoning the dynamic between an Arabic centre and a periphery, and the ensuing discrimination against, and/or paternalist attitudes towards, literary and cultural production in certain varieties of Arabic over others. In this sense, when one does not adhere to the language attitude that arabophonie describes, it remains possible to condemn and reject its hierarchical implications, or denounce the marginalization, silencing, or snubbing of the other languages that make it arabophone rather than Arabic.
Algeria is arabophone in that at least one other language is perceived to exist alongside Arabic. This is a fundamental difference between the Maghreb and other Arabic-speaking regions. In the Maghreb, the presence of French is obvious. In fact, often what defines the Maghreb as a region, is precisely that it is the three former French colonies of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia. This makes it francophone, but, consequently, arabophone also. However, if The Maghreb is obviously arabophone given the existence of French as a result of colonialism, Tamazight (the Amazigh language also known as Berber) compounds the complexity of the diglossic situation in Algeria, and plays an even more important role in making the region arabophone rather than strictly Arabic. Although the women of the Cherchell area speak in Dardja with Lila, they are also Amazigh, making Dardja presumably their second language, and Tamazight their first.
Hergé’s adventures of Tintin have been translated to over 80 languages and dialects, including Arabic. Yet, only one of the stories that see Tintin travel to the Arab World were translated or made available in Arabic. What is exceptional about this story, and why were the others not deemed fit for an Arabic version? The editorial choices made by the Arabic publishers of Tintin’s albums—even when this choice is to not translate them—are revealing not only of issues pertaining to the representation of the language in Hergé’s works, but also of peculiar cultural challenges in exposing one of Belgium’s most recognizable characters to Islamic and Arabic-speaking audiences. This essay examines the ways in which Arabic and those who speak it are represented in the adventures set in the Arab World, in order to explain the challenges standing in the way of an Arabic edition of those albums. Moreover, its study of the Arabic that Hergé included in the original Tintin books written in French contributes to scholarship about Hergé and his art in general, and more specifically his realist tendencies, through an assessment of the accuracy of the Arabic he employed, and an analysis of the ways in which Tintin books can be experienced by bilingual readers (who know Arabic but read the books in French or English for example).
This position of the Hui at the intersection of two presumably mutually-exclusive cultural spheres, namely Muslim and Chinese, results in mode of identity-formation, which I call alibism, and in which identity is founded on the basis of perpetual deferment to an alternative location.
For access, please click the link above, or here: http://chimurengachronic.co.za/the-sahara-is-not-a-boundary/
Nadir Moknèche’s Viva Laldjérie (2003) is one of a number of films that mark as well as chronicle the turn of a new leaf in Algeria. It was shot in Algiers at the onset of the twenty-first century, when the previous decade’s civil war meant that images of Algeria on screen had become associated with news of violence rather than movies. As the characters in Viva Laldjérie confront the trauma of war and their personal losses, they speak almost exclusively in French. Arabic remains conspicuously absent except for three specific instances during the film. Outside of these three instances, only a few words are perceived in the background. The circumstances of each use of Arabic indicate an evolution in the characters’ relationships with their pain and suffering following the shock of the war. French, in this context of Algerian civil war, becomes a language that allows a form of detachment from one’s own country for Algerians facing violence.
http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/10.1080/13629387.2016.1150183
Below are some excerpts:
The start of the 1980s marks Djebar’s return—after a decade-long absence—both to writing in general and to the French language in particular. If the 1970s stand out in her bibliography as a conspicuous gap in productivity, the circumstances of this gap are well-documented. Djebar has written about this period in her work indicating that she thought that she could write in Arabic. Yet, Arabic written by her would never appear in print. In 1980, she published Femmes d’Alger dans leur appartement, soon followed by a series of novels, all in French. At first look, it seems as though Assia Djebar eventually forsakes her unfruitful Arabic experiment for a definitive return to publishing in French. However, her Arabic experiment did bear fruit, and her output in that language did see the light of day, only it was on screen, rather than on the page. Those familiar with the Algerian author’s oeuvre know that the 1970s’ gap in her bibliography corresponds to her foray into filmmaking, which yielded two films. These films will also remain her only works that are not in French.
If Djebar did not write in Arabic but made a film instead, then how is filmmaking, in her case, a more suitable medium for Arabic expression than writing?
In order to begin answering this question, I focus on the first of her two films, The Nouba of the Women of Mount Chenoua (1978), and articulate my analysis of both the film and its circumstances around the interrelated notions of aphasia, diglossia, and what I call arabophonie in Algeria. The last of these notions merits qualification straight away. The term arabophone is generally used in the objective sense of speaking Arabic. However, I intend it to convey the same connotation that francophone carries. Just as postcolonial implications of margin and centre result in francophone signifying not quite French, the Maghreb can be arabophone also in the sense of not quite Arabic. As to diglossia, while commonly addressed in the discipline of linguistics, and central to studies of Arabic within that field, it is, in this case, also relevant from a literary perspective. Nevertheless, it is necessary to start by considering the role of Nouba in Djebar’s work, and the role of speaking for the main character, or, as it happens, not speaking, which I designate as aphasia. This choice of word is not innovative by any means. Djebar herself used it as part of a chapter title in L’Amour, la fantasia (1985). By asking how is film a better suited medium than writing for Arabic expression in Djebar’s case, what I submit is that aphasia became essential to Djebar’s work specifically in its ties to Arabic, and the language’s position in Algeria at the intersections of French, Tamazight, and a broader Arabic-speaking region.
APHASIA
Nouba is a traditional form of urban music in the Maghreb, with its roots in Arab Spain, which is why it is sometimes also called Andalusian. The word nouba has entered French in its musical sense to mean a loud, carnivalesque revelry. However, it carries another meaning, still prevalent in the original Arabic, signifying ‘turn’ or ‘opportunity’ (as in take a turn, or get an ‘opportunity’ or a ‘chance’). This double meaning is intentional, and the women’s nouba in the title carries both senses of ‘women’s song’ (implying their song in their own voice), and ‘women’s turn’ (implying their turn to speak). The connection between the sense of ‘turn’ and the musical form is based on the trilateral root ن.و.ب, meaning representing (or acting as representative), it is also etymologically related to substitution and deputation or proxy.
The titular nouba suggests that it is literally their turn to speak after they were overlooked by history, and their voices silenced, which is consistent with Djebar’s role as a historian. However, it is not enough to get a turn to speak, one needs a voice to speak with. In the other sense, of nouba, Lila substitutes the women of the Cherchell area’s voice for her own. With their turn to speak, they give Lila a voice as much as they are given one, and they represent her as much as the film represents them. Nouba is the facto the porte-parole of these women.
DIGLOSSIA
It is important to stress the difference between the two varieties of language that constitute Diglossia. Because these varieties are situational and socially-governed, they can easily be mistaken for tone or register, and diglossia can be misunderstood when the focus is only on the social factors that regulate the situations in which H or L is used. However, the differences between the two can be very pronounced, resulting in what may seem like two different languages, each with its own grammar, lexicon, and phonology. The implications of likening varieties of a language to separate languages can be highly inflammatory and politically laden. My purpose, however, is merely to indicate the apparent difference between H and L Arabic. Most importantly, however, it is essential to keep in mind that speakers of a diglossic language are not necessarily proficient in both varieties. While the L variety is acquired the way any language is acquired, namely through speaking to children, H is achieved through formal education.
This difference in acquisition is crucial. Using H or L is not necessarily a social choice, but a privilege of the literate. The first implications of this privilege for Nouba should be immediately apparent when taking into account the literacy rates of Algeria in the 1970s. According to UNESCO, and based on a 1971 census, the illiteracy rate in Algeria was 73.6% for segments of the population aged fifteen and over, and illiteracy among rural women specifically for that age group was 94.0% (1978, 42). While the literacy of the women in the film is unverifiable, the illiteracy rates among women in rural Algeria at the time were high by any standard. These women, speaking L Arabic only as a result of illiteracy, literally and very tangibly do not have a say in situations where the use of H is required. Consider, for instance, that parliament and political speeches are examples of some of these situations where H is used.
ARABOPHONIE
When taking into account the perceived superiority of certain varieties of Arabic, arabophonie, in this context, is analogous to what the term francophonie connotes, which is precisely not quite French. Arabophone, then, suggests a perceived inferiority in comparison to other varieties of Arabic. To clarify this analogy, I propose to focus on one crucial feature of francophonie, which is that it always entails the significant existence of at least one other language alongside French. Whether it is Wolof or the many other languages of West Africa, a Créole in the Caribbean, English in North America, Dutch or German in Europe. Naturally, the situation in each of these regions is considerably more complex than I am sketching here. However, the consistent feature that differentiates France from francophone countries or regions, is that in France only French is imagined to exist, regardless of the factual existence of other languages. In contrast, when French-speaking societies are francophone rather than French, the existence—officially acknowledged or not—of some other idiom is essential.
Similarly, arabophonie is demarcated by the apparent presence of one or more other languages in the region or society. It is the appearance of a presence of another language that is the significant feature here, rather than its actual presence. Defining Arabophonie as the fact of speaking Arabic in a bi- or multilingual context acknowledges the alleged inferiority of certain varieties of Arabic based on the belief that the presence of other languages in the region is corruptive, whether this belief and the hierarchy that it implies are adhered to or not. As such, it is different from a rivalry between regions (each claiming their variety of Spoken Arabic being closer to Fussha for example), but acknowledges without necessarily condoning the dynamic between an Arabic centre and a periphery, and the ensuing discrimination against, and/or paternalist attitudes towards, literary and cultural production in certain varieties of Arabic over others. In this sense, when one does not adhere to the language attitude that arabophonie describes, it remains possible to condemn and reject its hierarchical implications, or denounce the marginalization, silencing, or snubbing of the other languages that make it arabophone rather than Arabic.
Algeria is arabophone in that at least one other language is perceived to exist alongside Arabic. This is a fundamental difference between the Maghreb and other Arabic-speaking regions. In the Maghreb, the presence of French is obvious. In fact, often what defines the Maghreb as a region, is precisely that it is the three former French colonies of Morocco, Algeria, and Tunisia. This makes it francophone, but, consequently, arabophone also. However, if The Maghreb is obviously arabophone given the existence of French as a result of colonialism, Tamazight (the Amazigh language also known as Berber) compounds the complexity of the diglossic situation in Algeria, and plays an even more important role in making the region arabophone rather than strictly Arabic. Although the women of the Cherchell area speak in Dardja with Lila, they are also Amazigh, making Dardja presumably their second language, and Tamazight their first.
Hergé’s adventures of Tintin have been translated to over 80 languages and dialects, including Arabic. Yet, only one of the stories that see Tintin travel to the Arab World were translated or made available in Arabic. What is exceptional about this story, and why were the others not deemed fit for an Arabic version? The editorial choices made by the Arabic publishers of Tintin’s albums—even when this choice is to not translate them—are revealing not only of issues pertaining to the representation of the language in Hergé’s works, but also of peculiar cultural challenges in exposing one of Belgium’s most recognizable characters to Islamic and Arabic-speaking audiences. This essay examines the ways in which Arabic and those who speak it are represented in the adventures set in the Arab World, in order to explain the challenges standing in the way of an Arabic edition of those albums. Moreover, its study of the Arabic that Hergé included in the original Tintin books written in French contributes to scholarship about Hergé and his art in general, and more specifically his realist tendencies, through an assessment of the accuracy of the Arabic he employed, and an analysis of the ways in which Tintin books can be experienced by bilingual readers (who know Arabic but read the books in French or English for example).
This position of the Hui at the intersection of two presumably mutually-exclusive cultural spheres, namely Muslim and Chinese, results in mode of identity-formation, which I call alibism, and in which identity is founded on the basis of perpetual deferment to an alternative location.
For access, please click the link above, or here: http://chimurengachronic.co.za/the-sahara-is-not-a-boundary/
عندي سيارة