Fatima Daas: Existence at the Intersections
A self-described intersectional feminist, Daas writes to offer a glimpse of her reality and how it connects to larger struggles of anti-racism, sexism, and homophobia.
In the year of 2023, the French far-right believes that le wokisme — a vague term that appears to describe advocacy for minorities like people of color and LGBTQ+ people — is an American export corroding French institutions. France, they say, with its traditions of deep color-blind republicanism and fervent secularism, ought to stay away from any inevitably incompatible communitarian approach to civics. Those on the left, and frequently young people, are starting to point out the holes in those claims. The lived experiences of minorities with discrimination prove that the country is not nearly as colorblind or secular as it envisions itself. Literature about these lived experiences has a long history: communities such as the Jewish, the Romani, those with disabilities, and gender minorities were among some of the earliest groups whose experiences made it to the page. Later immigrant groups such as North Africans soon started releasing works about their experiences too. The ever-growing bodyof North African-French writing recently witnessed a brilliant addition: Fatima Daas’s La petite dernière (2020). A self-described intersectional feminist, Daas writes to offer a glimpse of her reality and how it connects to larger struggles of anti-racism, sexism, and homophobia.
Daas’s book reminds the reader often that she is a Muslim of Algerian background living in France. The reminder is necessary: the book is politically committed to providing space for these identities. It also dispels misconceptions about them. She is passionate about her Muslim faith even if at times the community has not welcomed her. As a lesbian whose gender expression can be masculine, Daas has been told by her mother and several religious leaders that homosexuality is a sin that goes against God’s plan for men and women to marry and have children. Unsatisfied with these comments, Daas continues to seek a way to reconcile her faith with her gender and sexuality. Intertwined with her faith is her culture, which she loves encountering during family visits to her native Algeria. In a world that often insists that Islam (as a religion and a culture) is opposed to homosexuality, Daas challenges this by showing that she exists and is unwilling to refute any side to her. For her, existence at the intersections is not optional but essential.
Daas’s work insists on the intersections beyond gender and ethnicity too. Her middle-class family lives in Clichy-sous-Bois, a banlieue somewhat removed from bustling Paris. Commuting daily for hours takes a toll on Daas, but leaving her parents to settle in a more central location closer to her queer friends and univeristy peers would be a sort of giving up on them. By emphasizing the link between physical space and identity, Daas reminds readers that identities are material. Displacements that many take for granted are much more difficult for someone who grew up in a community that in conservative discourses is said not to represent France. The banlieue, Daas explains, is France too. France is a lot of things, including a young Muslim lesbian figuring out her faith, navigating an intense love life, and wishing to establish herself as a writer. While some in France would rather believe that unity exists, others point out that it does not as long as power imbalances persist. Along the Foucauldian highway of power, Daas stands, jotting down what she sees as she takes the bus to university, as she attends counseling or as she watches her mother prepare a warm meal for her father. In a battle between specificity and generality, Daas demonstrates that one’s specific experiences are but the reflection of larger stories, and that deconstructing these larger stories is a difficult but rewarding work.
