“The French state is also committed to the idea that those who are born French or born on French soil are French by law, regardless of their heritage. But, of course, these ‘legal attributes of citizenship only go so far,” he added, noting that in cases of discrimination, the fact of being French by law doesn’t seem to matter.

“Over time, this stigmatisation exposes the fact that citizenship in France is not enough to ensure successful integration.”

Marie Chedru, 41, understands the situation all too well.

Chedru is tall and lively, her curly black hair streaked with red. She was born in France to Cameroonian parents and has always held French nationality, even as she spent a part of her childhood in Cameroon when her parents moved back. As a child, she was raised speaking French instead of her parents’ native language, Basaa, as is common in many post-colonial societies. Chedru returned to France at the age of 16 to continue her education, moving into her aunt’s house in the suburbs of Paris, and has lived in France ever since, training as an accountant and raising two daughters with her white French husband.

But despite her legal status as a French citizen, and her perfect command over the language, Chedru says that her experiences with othering and racism have forced her to disengage from her French identity.

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“I see myself as an international person. I don’t see myself as a French person,” she said.

Inside Chedru’s apartment in Paris’s tony 16th arrondissement, just a short walk away from the Eiffel Tower, photos of her two young daughters occupy pride of place, making her feel at home. But Chedru says she often has to contend with being one of the few people of colour in the building, resulting in frequent questions and confusion over her presence, particularly in the evenings when the other people of colour, primarily nannies and cleaners, have left the neighbourhood to go back to their homes in the more affordable parts of the city. 

Chedru recalls once being asked by the building’s concierge to take up a package to her flat that was addressed to ‘Madame Chedru’, assuming that she was an employee of the household and not an actual resident in the upmarket neighbourhood.

These slights continue at the workplace where Chedru says she often feels forced to transform her appearance to suit the environment, opting for straighter hair and different clothing and mannerisms.

“If I was the real Marie (at work), I wouldn’t be hired,” she said.

To Chedru, all this is the direct result of her skin colour and the complicated legacy of French colonialism which prevents her from feeling included as a fellow French citizen.

“Because they colonised us, they can’t consider us as the same,” she said.

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In the aftermath of the 1789 revolution, France became the first country in Europe to constitutionally recognize the right to asylum, prompting the beginning of its long history as a nation that welcomed foreigners on its soil, gradually becoming their permanent home. Over the years, despite the admonishments of France’s right-wing groups, this diverse population of immigrants and their descendants have enriched the nation’s social fabric, its culture, cuisine and customs. One only has to walk through the lively African market in Goutte d’Or in the 18th arrondissement of Paris, or past the Chinese dumpling shops in Belleville, to see this diversity in action, to see hundreds of people with hyphenated identities and origins from all around the world.

It was this cultural richness and France’s social values that drew Nancy Shields to Paris all those years ago and her decision to become a French citizen was a way to formally establish her own hyphenated identity, the direct result of the many years she has lived in France.

“I became part of France and France became part of me and obtaining nationality was a way of acknowledging that, for me and others,” she said.

Like Shields, thousands of people live in France today with hyphenated identities, pushing back every day against the narrow interpretation of Frenchness that often denies them the full claim to their national identity.

Even as Shields recognizes her position of privilege as an individual with deep connections to France and America, her experience exemplifies the struggles of her cohort.

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“I feel at home in both and not at home in both,” she said.

End