Sisterly Solidarity

Strasbourg is doing its fair bit to champion female empowerment in March. Beyond just acknowledging the international day of women on the 8th, there have been a number of commemorative events around town throughout the month. A few of those have been done in collaboration with THRO.

One evening, straight after work, I attend a panel discussion with six dynamic female academics. Each speaker gives an historical overview of the struggle for women to obtain the vote in their respective European countries of origin or domicile. Just as I arrive, an enthusiastic bespectacled woman approaches me, gabbling in French.

Are you Cecile Kyenge?

She is referring to the sole brown face on the panel. Kyenge is a Congolese MEP who became the first minister of African descent in her adopted Italy. I am surprisingly irate. Aside from a similarity in complexion, Kyenge and I look nothing alike. She has at least 15 years on me. She wears a cropped black afro. I have long-ish kinky twists with burgundy highlights. Nothing would link us besides our shared ethnicity.

There are other black women in Strasbourg, you know. I retort. I’m surprised I have the presence of mind. In French for that matter.

Oh no. That’s not what I meant. It’s just we’re expecting her…

Micro-aggressive cretin. I silently fume whilst locating a seat in the auditorium.

Inadvertent racism notwithstanding, it’s something of an honour to be associated with Cecile, even if unintentionally. She is an amazingly resilient and intelligent woman. Unlike the rest of the panel, her 10 minutes + is dedicated to her own experience with (dis)enfranchisement and entry into politics. An ophthalmologist by training, Kyenge’s political journey started rather late. She didn’t vote until the age of 30, having arrived in Italy from DRC at 18 years old and having to wait several years to obtain citizenship and the right to join the electorate. Much like her trailblazing British counterpart Diane Abbott, Kyenge has been subjected to eye-watering levels of abuse because of her gender and ethnicity. She has spent several years in and out of court bringing high profile offenders to justice and won a significant victory last year.

I’m duly inspired by the event (and grateful for the language practice). 

On a roll, I head to another feminism-related lunchtime book launch held at The Organisation the following day featuring one of the speakers from the previous night’s conference.

I’ve been impressed by the breadth of topics covered thus far. The conversations have been nuanced and not as polarising as I’d expected. I wear the feminist label with more boldness than I did in my younger years. However, I don’t subscribe unreservedly to what some feminists might call red line ideologies. I am wholly aware my views on certain issues would be considered too conservative for them.

Meanwhile, back in the office relations with Claudia have vastly improved. We’re conversing a lot more. Our confrontation a few weeks back looks increasingly like a blessing in disguise. I admit to having misjudged how to handle the stalemate beforehand. I should have tried earlier to extend the olive branch.

We speak about the politically unstable situation in her native Italy. I tell her of my admiration Cecile. Cosmopolitan Claudia is all too aware of -and embarrassed by-the treatment to which Kyenge was subjected.

Cecile Kyenge (courtesy of Libération)

The following week, one of my managers Lucia, calls me aside for a one-to-one. Another department big wig, Marie-Anne, will also be in attendance. This doesn’t sound good. I have very little to do with Marie-Anne in my day-to-day operations. At first, I try unsuccessfully not to fret. I go through the possibilities in my mind. I have tried to be the consummate professional. Will I be told off for using the photocopier for personal reasons? Sometimes listening to music whilst I work? I email mum and sis. I pray throughout the morning. By the time the mid-afternoon appointment rolls around, by the grace of God, I’ve attained some level of serenity.

Marie-Anne does most of the talking. There’s a somewhat formal preamble before she gets down to business. A customer service rep from the travel agency used by THRO has made unflattering comments about me. It proceeds a conversation the afternoon before when I called to discuss a flight related cock-up that has occurred involving two consultants only recently hired by the department. We speak for a few moments in French but I decide to switch to English to avoid any misunderstanding of content or tone. At some point the rep, Sebastien, becomes aggressive and unprofessional. I tell him in as collected but firm manner as I can muster that this behaviour is not acceptable. I acknowledge he’s under a lot of pressure, what with various travel-related industrial action making his life harder, but I also have a job to do. I confirm the details of the conversation by email, to which Sebastien responds in terse grammatically imperfect English. My supervisor Sophie is in copy. She later comments on his abrasiveness.

After Marie-Anne’s long introduction I have an opportunity to give my side of events. I do so dutifully and calmly, all the while shocked at the irony that Sebastien should complain about me.

Marie-Anne and Lucia ask some tendentious questions about my overall job satisfaction.

It’s just we noticed a few weeks ago you and Claudia closed the office door. You were talking for an awfully long time. Your body language suggested it was heated. We’ve never had someone in our team so fiery...’

Here we go.

That’s patently untrue. I’ve seen and heard enough to the contrary.

My efforts to self-efface as much as possible have not worked. My subtle attempts to avoid perpetuating any stereotypes regarding my gender and ethnicity have apparently been for naught. People are going to draw their conclusions regardless. Perhaps my paranoia about being too visible on the radar is justified.

I try to remain equanimous. I dodge leading questions about my relationship with Claudia.

We’re just very expressive people, I parry, We had some misunderstandings to clear up…

I’m not about to incriminate my colleague nor dredge up what is now ancient history.

The half an hour intervention feels almost twice as long. Marie-Anne concludes with yet another imprecation that we all get along. Sebastian was just stressed. We can’t afford to have bad relations with the Travel Agency since we depend on their services…

The department is comprised of nice people, she insists. I must feel at ease. I shouldn’t hesitate to ask questions.

I’m a little shell-shocked. On the plus side, it’s been great French practice.

Shortly afterwards, I discreetly tell Claudia about what has just transpired. She’s very surprised that Sebastien complained (as is Sophie, I'm later to discover). She’s heard far worse exchanges between THRO employees and the Travel Agency. I ask Claudia what she thought of my interaction with Sebastien. She was present at the time.

I’ve lived in the UK. She tactfully replies, I understand the British sense of "firm but fair". But it’s not always taken that way here.

She proffers a few more personal examples of culturally-related misunderstandings. I make a mental note of how to side-step them.

I become more and more convinced Sebastien took particular umbrage with my assertiveness because of my gender. If I were a man, he either wouldn’t have spoken to me in that manner or wouldn’t have thought it worthy of note that I objected.

Social attitudes will evidently take longer to change than a-month-per-year of awareness-raising can achieve.