Paul Pogba celebrates after scoring against Portugal during a friendly. Photo: Ajith Kumar (via Flickr/Creative Commons)

France's Blackness

As French scholar Grégory Pierrot points out, "the black players of France are also black players for the entire black world."

The French National Football team has reached its third World Cup final in twenty years. And like when they won it all in 1998, and when they lost in memorable fashion in 2006, their racial makeup seems to be one of the main talking points surrounding them.

In 1998, when France also hosted the tournament, the diverse background of its key players—mainly that of the team's star, Zinedine Zidane, who was born in France to Algerian Berber parents—was used to both celebrate and lament the state of the country as a sort of "melting pot of cultures."

Those who celebrated a team packed with black, Caribbean and Arab players saw its success as proof that France could move forward from its colonial past and into a welcoming, inclusive idea of "Frenchness." Those voices that lamented the same team—mainly heralded by the far-right politician Jean-Marie Le Pen—saw it as a metaphor for fleeting French values, and the disappearance of the "pureness" (or "whiteness") they wanted for France.

In 2006, when France lost the final against Italy in Germany, many narratives focused on Zidane's last act as a professional footballer: A while after scoring a "Panenka" style penalty, he headbutted Italian Marco Materazzi and was sent off from the game. Allegedly, Materazzi had been racially abusing Zidane, and the French captain could not stand it anymore. Although Zidane has never said what did Materazzi say exactly, that final is remembered more for that final act of defiance, than for Italy winning on penalties.

This time around, France has been heralded as one of the most "African" teams in the competition. Many infographics have been circulating on social media pointing out that 15 of the 23 players in the French squad can trace their heritage back to Africa, mainly to former French colonies. This is the case, for example, of World Cup sensation Kylian Mbappé, who was born in Paris to a Cameroonian father and an Algerian mother; and of team center-piece N'Golo Kanté, who was also born in Paris, but to Malian parents.

There is also Samuel Umtiti, the defender who scored the goal that sent France to the final, who was born in Yaoundé, Cameroon. Oftentimes, Raphaël Varane, whose father is from the French Caribbean island of Martinique, is also included on these lists, as further proof of a sort "international blackness" present in the French team.

As French scholar Grégory Pierrot points out, "the black players of France are also black players for the entire black world." And perhaps this focus on France's "Africanness" is a result of all five African teams being eliminated in the group stages, and many fans looking for a new team to support. A way to support one of the most multicultural teams out there.

But of course, this multiculturalism is not the result of mere chance, but rather of France's complicated history. After World War II, France opened its borders to immigrants coming mostly from its former colonial empire as a way to supply the labor shortage and rebuild the nation. These immigrants—who were usually fleeing from local economies destroyed by decades or centuries of colonialism—were reluctantly welcomed in France, often seen as a necessary inconvenience. They had to settle mostly in banlieues, the suburban areas surrounding major cities, that for some in France became synonyms with "dangerous immigrant ghettos."

But for the French Football Federation, these areas became synonymous with untapped football potential. After a series of failures in the 1960 and 1970s, the Federation decided to create a football academy system to develop talent. Many of the academies were located in those same banlieues, where there was enough space and a large talent pool of poor kids trying to get ahead in life. Perhaps the most famous of these academies is Clairefontainte, located in the Paris suburb of the same name.

Both Mbappé and Blaise Matuidi (who was born in Toulouse to Angolan and Congolese parents) trained here and will represent France in the World Cup final this Sunday. But the academy has produced other country's World Cup talents, such as Morocco's Mehdi Benatia and Portugal's Raphaël Guerreiro.

Not only that, France has produced a total 29 players playing for other countries' teams in the tournament. This, coupled with the fact that both the Belgium and England squads—who both reached the semifinals—are also packed with the sons of immigrants, has made this World Cup "a victory for the immigrant dream," as Ishaan Tharoor proclaims in the Washington Post.

But not everyone in France will gladly boast this narrative. Gérard Araud, France's ambassador to the United States, for example, tweeted, in response to claims of France being "the most African team," that "all these players are French born and are as French citizens as I am 2) so what? A problem with the color of their skin? Why do you endorse the narrative of the far-right?"

His fear, echoed through a big part of France, is that the constant signaling of some of the player's "otherness," will reinforce the narrative that they are not completely French. This is not an unfounded fear, as the pushing of that kind of narrative has already happened.

Since at least the 1998 run, the French team has been nicknamed "Black-Blanc-Beur." This is a pun of the bleu-blanc-rouge of the French flag that points out the "Black-White-Arab" composition of the team. But while some saw this as a celebration of the country's diversity, the far-right used it as an insult towards those players who are not considered "French" enough, those whose identities come from somewhere else and might never become fully French.

Le Pen, for example, said in 1998: "I find it's a bit artificial to make these players come from abroad and to baptize them as the French team." He also complained constantly that those players did not sing the national anthem with the gusto seen performed by the players from more homogeneous nation, as proof that they could never be considered French properly.

Still, France, "the most African team," will take the field this Sunday against Croatia to play for their second World Cup title. And despite the animosity towards the black-beure players on the team, they will be, for at least 90 minutes (and very likely 120), what the world thinks of when they think about France.

(Photo by Jack Vartoogian/Getty Images)

Blitz the Ambassador Named 2020 Guggenheim Fellow

The Ghanaian artist and filmmaker is among 175 "individuals who have demonstrated exceptional capacity for productive scholarship or exceptional creative ability in the arts."

Ghanaian filmmaker Blitz Bazawule, also known as Blitz the Ambassador has been named a 2020 Guggenheim fellow.

The musician, artist and director behind he critically acclaimed film The Burial of Kojo, announced the news via social media on Thursday, writing: "Super excited to announce I've been awarded the Guggenheim 2020 Fellowship. Truly grateful and inspired."

He is among 175 scholars, "appointed on the basis of prior achievement and exceptional promise, the successful candidates were chosen from a group of almost 3,000 applicants in the Foundation's ninety-sixth competition," says the Guggenheim.

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Photo via TONL

What France's LOL League Scandal Says About its Elite Media Class

A Facebook group made up of some of France's top journalists spent years harassing women and minorities and got away with it.

Last week, a small revolution happened in the French media world. An article published by left wing newspaper Libération, interviewed the members of the so called LOL League, a private Facebook group where many prominent journalists and people working in the media, all of them men, most of them white and middle class, used to harass, target and threatened other journalists and bloggers, on social media and in real life.

Created by French journalist Vincent Glad, (a journalist who doxxed a teenage girl called Zahia Dehar who was involved in an underage prostitution scandal with footballers Franck Ribery), the LOL league was at first, a "safe space" for these journalists to make fun of people they didn't like. The group was made of journalists, editors in chiefs, press managers among other powerful figures in the media, many working for left leaning magazines.

Soon, it became a tool for them to harass and stalk bloggers, colleagues, strangers they didn't like. They photoshopped the faces of their victims on pornographic pictures and spread it online, including, on one occasion, on a forum for teenagers. One of the members of the league dated a journalist and then dumped her and lied about being HIV-positive and infecting her. Some members would even created fake media job ads that their victims would apply for, only for them to reject their application in the most humiliating way.

The LOL League mostly targeted women and a few men, especially feminists that would speak up against misogyny, homophobia and racism. French journalist Melanie Wanga recalls that when she tweeted that blackface was an issue in France and not just in the U.S. she was harassed by a bunch of accounts.

For many victims, as Wana explains, who were young journalists just starting their career, there was a fear of speaking up against the League: what if one of the members turned out to be their potential boss? Or a colleague? Speaking up meant that many professional doors would remain closed.

The LOL league expose the most rancid part of an industry that is still overwhelmingly closed to anyone who is not a white man.

Yet, some of them took action, personally and publicly. They wrote and shared an open letter on Twitter calling the Facebook group out in 2012, letter that the League used to harass and ridicule them even more, describing the victims as "cry-babies unable to tolerate online bullying".

The LOL league faced no consequences for their actions. In fact, most of them went to have successful careers in the media and politics. The editorial directors of the many publications they worked at were made aware of the group, but choose to do nothing. When the tide turned and that more people were embracing intersectionality and feminism, a few league members, such as Vincent Glad and Guilhem Malissen, rebranded themselves as feminists.

To make things even more complex, some of the women who were the victims of the league, went on to harass Black French feminists. The LOL league expose the most rancid part of an industry that is still overwhelmingly closed to anyone who is not a white man.

The French media still is a boy's club where the League members were the all mighty rulers and everyone who wouldn't bow down would suffer terrible consequences on their personal and professional lives. Their lack of respect, their sociopathy and inability to see women as human beings, let alone peers worthy of respect explain why the same women wouldn't even be considered good enough for many media jobs advertised. When it's part of the culture to rile and humiliate, you're definitely not going to hire many women to work as journalists. And that explains why it has been revealed that other magazines, like Vice France and the French Huffington Post had until recently their own version of the League.

Unfortunately for the victims, they can't take the group to court for harassment, as it happened 10 years ago. In the French law, it means that there is a statute of limitation.

Since the news resurfaced, a few League members have offered excuses, using the same template powerful people do when they do not feel sorry the slightest but have been caught. It goes this way: "I'm sorry to everyone I have offended but I was young and didn't know what I was doing. "

These excuses are incredibly cynical and show a profound lack of remorse. The League had 10 years to apologize to their victims and didn't do anything, so sure that they power and fame would shield them from any repercussions.

At last, the LOL league has stopped laughing. Most of the famous members have left their jobs or been fired. Some of them will come back, of course. But it is proof that at least, the boys' club karma is, finally coming after so much pain and careers destroyed.

Photo by Sabelo Mkhabela.

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Here are six South African podcasts worth listening to.

South Africa has been on lockdown for almost two weeks as a measure to curb the spread of the COVID-19 virus, and it looks like the period might just get extended. If you are one of those whose work can't be done from home, then you must have a lot of time in your hands. Below, we recommend six South African podcasts you can occupy yourself with and get empowered, entertained and informed.

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7 South African Punk Bands You Should Check Out

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For many years, the punk scene in South Africa has been thriving through a hands-on DIY attitude in which bands can foster their own homegrown audience without relying on mainstream culture. Music festivals like Soweto Rock Revolution have played a big part in it. Bands like National Wake showed the way and TCIYF are following that path and making punk more relevant than ever in the country.

Here are seven South African punk bands you should check out.

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