{"id":32352,"date":"2024-04-01T19:49:20","date_gmt":"2024-04-01T17:49:20","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/?p=32352"},"modified":"2024-04-02T07:01:43","modified_gmt":"2024-04-02T05:01:43","slug":"holding-back-the-bobos-portrait-of-paris-belleville","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/holding-back-the-bobos-portrait-of-paris-belleville\/","title":{"rendered":"Holding Back the Bobos: Portrait of Paris’ Belleville"},"content":{"rendered":"
Paris as a palimpsest \u2014 some of the page may be torn; certain sections may be downright missing. What you do see has been rewritten by generations multiple times over \u2014 in different scripts, and in different languages. <\/span>An exclusive excerpt from Paris Isn\u2019t Dead Yet: Surviving Gentrification in the City of Light<\/em>\u00a0(Saqi Books<\/a> 2024)<\/span><\/h5>\n

 <\/p>\n

Cole Stangler<\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

If you get on the Line 2 Metro at Barb\u00e8s\u2013Rochechouart, right at the southern edge of the Goutte d\u2019Or, there\u2019s a chance you\u2019ll cross paths with one of its regular passengers at work. He\u2019s short and slender, with a Casio mini-keyboard strung over his shoulder. When he starts playing, the first few notes on the keys may sound unremarkable, like any street musician. But once Mohamed Lamouri starts singing, his otherworldly voice is impossible to ignore. Rough and gravelly \u2014 right on the cusp of raspiness \u2014 it has a way of drawing you in with its strangeness and poignancy. It\u2019s also capable of a tremendous amount of versatility, moving from the high drama of Algerian ra\u00ef to a deftly arranged Arabic-language cover of \u201cBillie Jean.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Paris<\/a>
Paris Isn’t Dead Yet is published by Saqi Books<\/a>.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

From Barb\u00e8s, it\u2019s only a ten-minute metro ride east to the neighborhood of Belleville. From the moment one emerges from the metro here, the energy in the air is palpable: young men peddling knockoff cigarettes; giant Chinese letters above a restaurant overlooking the plaza and a French translation in neon lights that reads \u201cLE PR\u00c9SIDENT;\u201d sex workers lining the main boulevard from the early afternoon onward; caf\u00e9 terraces filled with patrons of different ages and ethnic backgrounds; more action bustling on a thin street winding its way up a steep hill. Belleville is many things, but one of its distinguishing qualities is that it remains a holdout to the wave of uniformization sweeping through Paris, a neighborhood that has managed to hold on to something that can\u2019t be found elsewhere.<\/span><\/p>\n

It needn\u2019t be idealized too much. There are all the familiar signs of gentrification \u2014 a sleek new organic food store; an expensive wine and liquor store; an art gallery \u2014 spaces that invite certain clients and exclude others. The rents are becoming ludicrously high. The divide between those who live in social housing and those who don\u2019t is growing by the year. And yet, certain facets of life in Belleville carry on: a willingness to embrace difference; a streak of rebelliousness; perhaps above all, in certain places and at certain times, a recognition of the fact that multiple populations share this space \u2014 that this neighborhood has never belonged to any one group in particular and that therein lies its charm.<\/span><\/p>\n

One such spot is Le Zorba. It\u2019s technically what\u2019s known as a PMU, a caf\u00e9 that doubles as a place to gamble on horse races. (The abbreviation comes from Pari Mutuel Urbain, the company with a monopoly on equestrian bookmaking in France, known for its emblematic green-and-red signs sticking out of caf\u00e9s nationwide.) In the mornings, the caf\u00e9 draws workers making quick stops for coffee breaks: construction crews, bus and subway conductors, sanitation workers. In the afternoons, it\u2019s mostly dominated by the old-timers who come to watch the races. About a dozen men fill the back of the caf\u00e9, their eyes transfixed on the flatscreen TV. But the decor suggests something else happens here, too. A smattering of concert posters covers the wall. A pair of thin, pink neon lights run across the ceiling.<\/span><\/p>\n

In the evenings \u2014 and especially Friday and Saturday nights \u2014 Le Zorba is a popular spot for a crew of 20- and 30-somethings who come here to party, dance and get drunk until it closes, like most bars in Paris, at two in the morning. A fourth and final wave of patrons \u2014 the most obliterated of all \u2014 tends to arrive when Le Zorba opens back up at 5 a.m. It\u2019s one of the few places around to keep the party going.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The Rise of the Immigrant Entrepreneur<\/h4>\n

The next day, the regulars were back. The music was off. The TV was back on, broadcasting a horse race from the South of France. Nearly all the patrons were on coffee, not beer. At around two in the afternoon, the bar\u2019s manager walked in the door, 42-year-old Ferhat Becheur.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe have different clienteles,\u201d Ferhat said over espresso on the sunlit terrace, pausing for drags on a cigarette. \u201cThe morning, it\u2019s people who work. In the afternoon to early evening, it\u2019s people for the PMU. And then after that, it\u2019s the young people. It\u2019s sort of <\/span>branch\u00e9<\/span><\/i> [hip]. I think we\u2019re one of the rare caf\u00e9s that does this.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Ferhat has helped run the bar since 2016, taking over the job from his father, who opened Le Zorba in 1990. (Before that the space, which had been around for decades, was known as La Com\u00e8te.) Many of the regulars \u2014 the guys who come for the horses \u2014 are from Belleville. Other clients just spend a lot of time in the neighborhood, like the legendary metro singer Mohamed Lamouri, who\u2019s been known to post up inside Le Zorba at night after singing on Line 2. He usually orders a peach or strawberry Diabolo, a non-alcoholic cocktail made of syrup and lemonade. Then he takes the night bus back to his home in the northeastern suburbs.<\/span><\/p>\n

Becheur said the churn around him is visible: \u201cA lot of my clients have left Paris because of the rent.\u201d He says he knows of a few other caf\u00e9 owners nearby who\u2019ve shuttered their doors in recent years \u2014 they were either unable to make ends meet or tired of hustling. But he says he\u2019s doing all right.<\/span><\/p>\n

It seems to me there are profound, perhaps even mystical, ties between Le Zorba and the neighborhood, but when I ask Ferhat about this, he\u2019s much more grounded, much more to the point. \u201cThat\u2019s Belleville for you. I like this neighborhood a lot,\u201d he smiled after my overwrought attempt at getting him to muse about where he lives.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s the mix,\u201d he continued. \u201cI feel like I\u2019m at home [in Algeria], but I also feel like I\u2019m in France.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Ferhat Becheur is perhaps too modest to point it out himself, but he\u2019s also representative of another tradition deeply ingrained in the fabric of the city and Belleville in particular: the success of immigrant entrepreneurs.<\/span><\/p>\n

People born abroad have long left their marks on Paris, sometimes through the arts, but most often through underappreciated low-wage labor, working behind the scenes to keep the city running and business flowing. They\u2019ve tanned leather, repaired shoes, sewed clothes, refined chemicals, built cars, swept streets, run subways, cleaned dishes and served food. Since they started arriving in more significant numbers from the late 19th century onward, this share of the Parisian population has tended to go woefully unrecognized.<\/span><\/p>\n

Of this larger group, a small subset has gone on to open small businesses of their own \u2014 shops, restaurants and caf\u00e9s \u2014 with varying degrees of success. Networks of fellow immigrants often play a vital role in sustaining these enterprises, especially in the early days. But sometimes \u2014 through enough work, perseverance and some luck \u2014 they break through to the native-born population. In a place where the foreign-born have never received their due credit, these high-visibility businesses don\u2019t just provide vital services. Their very presence sends a worthwhile message: don\u2019t forget who built this city.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n
\"North
French, North Africans and Anglo expats frequent Belleville’s Cafe\u0301 Che\u0301ri bar (photo Camille Griffoulie\u0300res)<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\n

<\/h4>\n

North African Immigrants in the Metropolis<\/h4>\n

It can be overlooked given all the flashiness that envelops the French capital today, but the fact is Paris has always been a city of immigrants. Nearly a fifth of the greater Paris region today is made up of immigrants \u2014 that is, people born as foreigners on foreign soil, according to <\/span>INSEE<\/span><\/a> \u2014 a figure that is double the share in metropolitan France as a whole. While many today are increasingly moving to the <\/span>banlieue<\/span><\/i> \u2014 either priced out of Paris proper or attracted to the suburbs from the onset \u2014 a large share still lives in Paris, where they make up about 20 percent of the total population.<\/span><\/p>\n

Today\u2019s political obsessions notwithstanding, this is not a new phenomenon. The French capital and its eastern neighborhoods in particular have long been home to foreigners seeking economic opportunities for themselves and their families. What\u2019s changed, above all, is where they come from. For much of the 20th century, immigrant workers hailed from eastern or southern Europe: Poland and Italy in the first few decades, then Spain and Portugal. Most today can point to roots in the Maghreb or sub-Saharan Africa, countries that were once holdings of France\u2019s colonial empire.<\/span><\/p>\n

Think of Paris today as a palimpsest. Some of the page may be torn. Certain sections may be downright missing. What you do see has been rewritten by generations multiple times over \u2014 in different scripts and in different languages. Belleville is far from the only passage worthy of attention, but what\u2019s remarkable is how closely today\u2019s version resembles previous versions of the text. In many respects, Belleville is still a working-class neighborhood and it\u2019s still an immigrant neighborhood.<\/span><\/p>\n

The heritage of this North African immigration is still very much visible today. There are a few kosher butchers, right around the metro station. Many of the area\u2019s caf\u00e9s and restaurants are run by Kabyles, like the Becheur family at Le Zorba. Just up the Rue de Belleville sits Aux Folies, another Kabyle-managed institution known for its giant, sprawling terrace, four or five rows of seats deep. Much smaller caf\u00e9s dot the neighborhood.<\/span><\/p>\n

\n
\"The
The plaque at 72 rue de Belleville commemorating the legendary nightclub singer Edith Piaf.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n
\n

A Moroccan Sociologist<\/h4>\n

At another bar and neighborhood institution, up the hill on the Rue de Belleville and not far from the plaque that commemorates the home the singer Edith Piaf grew up in in the 1920s, I met up for coffee with Mohammed Ouaddane. The 59-year-old was wearing a black leather jacket with blue jeans, sporting a graying beard and dreadlocks. A sociologist by training, born in Morocco, Ouaddane is also a longtime community activist with a particular focus on the history of immigration. He adores the neighborhood and has lived here since 1997, but told me there\u2019s something very painful going on as well, whatever you choose to call it.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cYes, there are working-class people here. Yes, there is social housing. But Belleville no longer belongs to the working class,\u201d Ouaddane said. \u201cThe landscape is being redrawn with a new socioeconomic border.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Ouaddane works a lot with young people, organizing after-school events for at-risk youth in the neighborhood. He said the younger generation is feeling the effects of the housing boom. In addition to the very real material gap that exists between their families and some of the newer residents, many have internalized a deep sense of inferiority.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCan the kids playing soccer in the park sit down and have a lemonade at the <\/span>bobo<\/span><\/a> caf\u00e9 that opened in front of their place?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

The vague, overworked word he used, <\/span>bobo,<\/span><\/i> derived from <\/span>bourgeois-boh\u00e8me, <\/span><\/i>was employed almost exclusively in jest, as a form of derision.<\/span><\/p>\n

He continued, \u201cNo. There\u2019s a nameless violence taking place and signifying to people that the working class doesn\u2019t have its place here and that it doesn\u2019t have any power.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s even worse because a lot of these young kids can get caught up in the parallel drug trade,\u201d Ouaddane went on, speaking calmly though his voice got louder.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re the little soldiers providing the artificial products for the people who come and set up comfortably on the terraces.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019ve witnessed this scene countless times on my own: white twenty-somethings buying low-quality hashish \u2014 what the French call shit \u2014 just in front of one of the public housing projects, where gaggles of Black and brown teens in tracksuits wait to be summoned.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAnd when I say \u2018kids,\u2019 they could be 40 years old,\u201d Ouaddane said. \u201cThese people have missed out on school, they\u2019ve missed out on jobs and at 40 or 45, they\u2019re up there standing up, waiting around. Then you have the bobo who shows up. Maybe he says \u2018hi\u2019 and maybe he\u2019s friendly, it can all be very cordial but the [systemic] violence there is profound.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\"Entrance
Entrance to the subway at Belleville, Paris.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Exclusion at Home<\/h4>\n

From a purely economic point of view, the changes in the neighborhood have produced winners and losers \u2014 people who, by chance, have come out on the right side of the housing boom; and others who\u2019ve been caught on the wrong side. The cruelty of the draw can be found across the northeast of Paris, but for an especially staggering example, one needs only to walk a couple minutes north of the Belleville metro station on the Boulevard de la Villette, past the headquarters of one of the country\u2019s two largest labor confederations, past the sex workers, past a couple of caf\u00e9s.<\/span><\/p>\n

On the left is a small street that serves as a gateway to the micro-neighborhood of Sainte-Marthe. There are bike lines. The storefronts are painted in different colors \u2014 teal, sky blue, light pink, yellow \u2014 and the buildings are all relatively short for Paris, no more than four stories high. If it feels like its own village, cut off from the rest of the city.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s also a form of exclusion that comes from telling yourself, \u2018Oh no, that\u2019s not for me,\u2019\u201d said Farida Rouibi, a 53-year-old documentary filmmaker.\u00a0 \u201cSubjectively, you think that it\u2019s not accessible and you tell yourself, \u2018I\u2019m not going in there.\u2019 I\u2019m sorry, but this is insidious.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cSome people think the kebab places are ugly or, you know, the places with pizza for five euros, with those ugly neon signs,\u201d she continued. \u201cBut I\u2019m one of the people who thinks, the day we don\u2019t have those, it\u2019s over!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

One especially clear sign of how much things had changed came during the first Covid lockdown, in the spring of 2020. With restrictions barring people from moving beyond a one-kilometer radius from their homes, Farida and others thought it might be nice to meet up in the streets\u2019 interconnected courtyards. That is, until she realized that the gates are now locked and the various courtyards are separated from one another. \u201cThere used to not be barriers and now there are barriers,\u201d she said. \u201cIt\u2019s very concrete.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

In the meantime, she\u2019s hoping to be able to get a haircut in the neighborhood.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI sent an email to the hair salon, saying I live in the neighborhood but I don\u2019t have the means to pay 60 to 80 euros a haircut,\u201d Farida said. \u201cI work part-time and I earn 1,800 euros a month. Would you give me a discount of 35 to 40 euros so that I can come down and take advantage of a service on my street?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

She has not heard back yet.<\/span><\/p>\n

Despite those frustrations, Farida said she constantly rebuffs those who tell her she should sell her small thirty-seven-square-meter apartment, now valued at around \u20ac360,000. The influx of cash would be nice, but then what? Her friends and her job are in the city.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u201cPeople say, \u2018Oh you can leave Paris.\u2019 But I don\u2019t want to leave Paris! Why would I want to leave Paris?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Exclusive excerpt by special arrangement with the author and Saqi Books, from <\/span>Paris Isn\u2019t Dead Yet: Surviving Gentrification in the City of Light<\/span><\/i> (2024) by Cole Stangler.<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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