The Diaspora of the Comoros in France: Ethnicised Biopolitics and Communitarisation 2022002519, 2022002520, 9780367627942, 9780367629748, 9781003111665, 9694044912

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The Diaspora of the Comoros in France

Based on an ethnographic study of mobilisations of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille during political and cultural events, the book examines communitarisation in relation to three thematic areas, namely spaces, cultural markets and local politics. Drawing on Foucault’s concept of the dispositif, the author analyses mobilisations of postcolonial diaspora as part of a dispositif of communitarisation, that is, a set of discourses, practices, institutions and subjectivations of diasporic community. She argues that constructions of ‘community’ are both shaped by and shape ethnicised biopolitics, expressed by modes of governing diasporic groups along ethnicised divisions and a marking of ethnicised communities as the Other of the French Republic. The performativity of a Comorian community brought into being through political, cultural, economic and customary practices also shows how Comorian communities govern themselves along ethnicised categories, at the intersection with generation, gender, age classes, locality and class. Communitarisation processes as part of ethnicised (self-)governing reveal postcolonial power relations in France as well as practices of negotiation and contestation on the part of Comorian communities. This book will be of interest to scholars in the fields of critical diaspora studies, critical ethnography, discourse and dispositif analysis, postcolonial politics and the African diaspora. Katharina Fritsch holds a doctorate in Political Science from the University of Vienna. In her research and teaching activities, she has focused on postcolonial migration and diaspora, Foucauldian theory and methodology and intersectional and postcolonial perspectives.

Routledge African Studies

45 The De-Africanization of African Art Towards Post-African Aesthetics Edited by Denis Ekpo and Pfunzo Sidogi 46 Black–Arab Encounters in Literature and Film Touria Khannous 47 The Pan-African Imperative Revisiting Kwame Nkrumah’s Vision for African Development Michael Williams 48 Naming and Othering in Africa Imagining Supremacy and Inferiority through Language Sambulo Ndlovu 49 Memories of Violence in Peru and the Congo Writing on the Brink Gilbert Shang Ndi 50 Black Thought A Theory of Articulation Victor Peterson II 51 The Diaspora of the Comoros in France Ethnicised Biopolitics and Communitarisation Katharina Fritsch

For a full list of available titles, please visit: https://www.routledge.com/ Routledge-African-Studies/book-series/ROUTAFST

The Diaspora of the Comoros in France Ethnicised Biopolitics and Communitarisation Katharina Fritsch

First published 2023 by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2023 Katharina Fritsch The right of Katharina Fritsch to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Fritsch, Katharina, 1956- author. Title: The diaspora of the Comoros in France : ethnicised biopolitics and communitarisation / Katharina Fritsch. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2022. | Series: Routledge African studies | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2022002519 (print) | LCCN 2022002520 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367627942 (hardback) | ISBN 9780367629748 (paperback) | ISBN 9781003111665 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Comorians—France—Marseille. | Immigrants— France—Marseille. | Biopolitics—France—Marseille. | Communities— France—Marseille. | Comoros—Emigration and immigration—History. | Marseille (France)—Emigration and immigration—History. Classification: LCC DC801.M38 F75 2022 (print) | LCC DC801.M38 (ebook) | DDC 305.896/9694044912—dc23/eng/20220420 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022002519 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022002520 ISBN: 978-0-367-62794-2 (hbk) ISBN: 978-0-367-62974-8 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-003-11166-5 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665 Typeset in Bembo by codeMantra

Contents

List of illustrations Acknowledgements 1 Introduction

vii ix 1

2 The Dispositif of Communitarisation as an Analytical and Methodological Perspective

23

3 Ref lections on Doing Ethnography … from a (Critical) White Perspective

51

4 Spaces of Communitarisation and Ethnicised Bordering

66

5 Twarab as a Diasporic Cultural Market

101

6 Etoiles Rasmi: ‘Ethno-Preneurialism’ and the Performativity of ‘Franco-Comorianness’

141

7 Politics of Communitarisation and Postcolonial Mimicry

170

8 Conclusion

205

Index

219

Illustrations

Figures 2.1 Code-groups and Analytical Dimensions 43

Maps 4.1 The Dock des Suds and the Salles de Fête: Neighbours Shaped by Ethnicised Bordering 67 4.2 Communitarised Spaces in the Centre-Ville 77

Acknowledgements

To my mother Ewa and my grandmother Katalin who taught me that ‘home’ is not necessarily where one is born but where one builds community. This book would not have been possible without the intellectual, emotional and institutional support of many. Thanks to my friends and members of my (chosen and biological) family for providing me with ‘homes’ – in Vienna, Marseille, Kitzbühel, Hall and Lauterach – in times when I need(ed) them most and for just being (t)here. Je tiens à remercier toutes les personnes et membres de la diaspora comorienne qui ont partagé leurs savoirs, leurs expériences et visions avec moi au cours de ma recherche à Marseille. Merci à toutes les associations franco-­ comoriennes de m’avoir raconté leurs activités, objectives et défis et de m’avoir permis de participer à leurs activités associatives. Je remercie spécialement ACUM, ANIF, L’Amicale des Mahorais des Bouches-du-Rhône, Ngoma des îles, RASMI-Paca et Ushababi. Merci au groupe de bénévoles d’Etoiles Rasmi de m’avoir accueilli aussi chaleureusement et aux trois candidat-e-s d’Etoiles Rasmi pour partager leurs aspirations artistiques avec moi. Merci à quelques membres du Collectif des Indignés de la Cité Phocéenne de m’avoir donné la possibilité de connaître leurs démarches politiques. Merci à tou-te-s les artistes de twarab qui ont partagé leurs situations en tant qu’artistes à Marseille avec moi. Merci à ORTC à Marseille d’avoir mis en disposition leur lieu pour des entretiens. The research and conceptual framework of this book has been inf luenced by many discussions with and feedbacks from colleagues, supervisors and friends. Thanks to colleagues from the ‘Diss-Kolloquium’ and ‘feminIEsta’ (University of Vienna) and the program ‘Sociology of Practices’ (IHS). Thanks especially to Hanna Stepanik for feedbacks on so many levels and colleagueship. The book also benefited from the critical and encouraging feedbacks on the dissertation this book is based on, given by my doctoral ­supervisor Birgit Sauer and the two reviewers Shirley A. Tate and Ina Kerner. The book was also very much inf luenced by helpful and challenging ­comments by two anonymous reviewers. A special thanks to the director of the project ‘Popular Culture in Translocal Spaces’, Birgit Englert, for professional accompaniment and openness to

x Acknowledgements

alternative ways of doing research. The research project especially taught me the relevance of collaborative research practices in postcolonial contexts, a road I gladly took together with my colleagues Andrés Carvajal and Mounir Hamada Hamza. Merci à vous deux pour la magnifique collaboration dans le cadre du documentaire ‘Histoires de Twarab à Marseille’. Thanks to Ahmad Abdoul-Malik for friendship and the inspiring discussions on the Comorian diaspora, community and Comorian culture and ­custom during the time of the research and for the continuous exchange since then. Your immense empathy for and critical stance towards different positionalities in research settings strongly inf luenced my own research process. A special thanks to Edma Ajanovic´ who not only read the many drafts of this book and offered feedback and critical remarks, but always had an open ­ oucauldian ear for ‘another analytical question’ and whose knowledge on F theory strongly inf luenced the analytical directions of this book. The perspective on ethnicised (self-)governing is also the result of many exchanges with Alev Çakır – thanks for the shared joy in thinking about abstract ­theories over a cup of çay. Feedbacks from Jul Tirler, Ben Kerste, Bea Gomes and Nicolas Schlitz have also left their analytical ‘imprints’ on the text. On a linguistic level, this work is indebted to Eléonore Tarla who has shown a great skill in proofreading while sticking to my style. Thanks to the IHS (Institute for Advanced Studies/Vienna), the research project ‘Popular Culture in Translocal Spaces’ (Department of African Studies/University of Vienna) and the Research Platform ‘Mobile Cultures and Societies’ (University of Vienna) for financial support and institutional entrenchment.

1 Introduction

“Welcome to the fifth island of the Comoros: Marseille, a cosmopolitan city, an economic capital of all Comorians” (Carvajal, Hamada Hamza and Fritsch 2016, 00:03:01; translation K.F.). In the documentary Histoires de Twarab à Mar­ arseille seille, the artist Mounir Hamada Hamza introduces the spectator to M in this manner and in so doing articulates a common discourse in the context of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille: By referring to Marseille as the “fifth island of the Comoros”, he ‘diasporises’ the city by illustrating its importance to the Comorian diaspora and the Comoros. Not only has the city been and continues to be central to migration from the Comoros – an archipelago of four islands in the Western Indian Ocean – it has also become a central space ­ omorian diaspora for socio-cultural, economic and political practices of the C (see Ahmad 2019; Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002). In this book, I analyse mobilisations of the Comorian diaspora by e­ xamining political and cultural events in Marseille. It is an ethnographic study for which I developed a conceptual framework that employs a political ­science perspective on postcolonial diaspora. Given the predominant role of discourses and practices of ‘community’ for the Comorian diaspora, I decided to focus on processes through which the Comorian diaspora in Marseille constitutes itself as well as is constituted as a community. I refer to this t­ wofold process as a dispositif of communitarisation. My analysis is based on a biopolitical approach, as it focuses on governing and self-governing processes in the context of diaspora. In this regard, I underline the role of France as a postcolonial context characterised by ethnicised biopolitics. This ­ethnicised biopolitics has two elements: On the one hand, ‘migrant communities’ are discursively marked as ethnicised Others opposed to the ‘national community’ (see e.g. Guénif-Souilamas 2006a; Mazouz 2017). On the other, the Comorian ­d iasporic community is brought into being through concrete cultural and political practices, that is, ethnicised self-governing. The main contribution of this book consists in contesting essentialising notions of diaspora and community (see e.g. Anthias 1998; Brah 2003) by showing how diaspora is both the object and subject of governing. Self-representations as a community are hence to be understood in relation to a constant Othering of Black communities and communities of colour in Western societies, in this case the French society.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665-1

2 Introduction

In this introduction, I first sketch the larger context of the Comorian diaspora, postcolonial France and debates on ‘communautarisme’, a term and concept employed to describe and discredit the political and public affirmation of (ethnicised) community identity in France. Second, I outline the development of my main theoretical and methodological framework of the dispositif of communitarisation, which then leads me to a short description of the analysis chapters focusing on the three main dimensions of this dispositif: the spaces, cultural markets and politics of communitarisation. Throughout this book, I aim at contributing to current debates on the importance of addressing ethnicised power relations in postcolonial France as they shape the governing of diasporic communities as well as diasporic groups’ political and cultural self-governing.

Comorian diaspora, postcolonial France and communautarisme Comorian populations are among Marseille’s largest non-white populations and are usually estimated to present about 10% of the city’s population. Migration from the Comoros to Marseille is shaped by a postcolonial context. The four Comorian islands – Ngazidja (Grande Comore), Nzwani (Anjouan), Mwali (Mohéli) and Maore (Mayotte) – were subjected to French colonial rule in the mid-19th century.1 In 1975, three of the four islands unilaterally proclaimed independence, while Mayotte has remained part of France as an ‘Overseas territory’ and became the 101st French ‘Overseas department’ (départment d’outre mer) in 2010 (see Idriss 2013).2 The division of the archipelago through the maintenance of neo-colonial borders, represented by the continuous presence of France on parts of the archipelago, has remained a political issue until today (Caminade 2004, 120f.).3 Given this colonial history and postcolonial continuities between France and the Comoros, France and especially Marseille has been a central space for migration from the Comoros. The importance of Marseille is a result of its role in the shipping industry, which also recruited workers from the colonies, in the 20th century (Bertoncello and Bredeloup 1999, 180ff.).4 While the migration – of primarily young men – hence also occurred during colonial times, it has increased significantly since the formal decolonisation of the Comoros in the mid-1970s and continues, now including all genders and generations (Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002, 40ff.; Zakaria 2000, 77ff.). The term ‘Comorian diaspora’ hence refers to different groups, including Comorian migrants who just arrived as well as ‘third-generation’ French citizens of ‘Comorian origin’. More generally speaking, in France, Comorian diaspora concerns individuals with different positionalities in terms of experiences of migration, gender, class or generation. I thus use this term – which also ref lects an emic conception – as it allows me to consider very different experiences of migration across different spaces and epochs (see Brubaker 2005; Clifford 1994), thus also including different generations. In this regard,

Introduction  3

the emphasis on an ethnicised identity as ‘Comorian’ negotiates the neo-­ colonial division between the three islands of the Union of the Comoros and the fourth island of Mayotte (see Caminade 2010). However, and as I will show throughout this book, ethnicisation processes also reproduce power relations within the Comorian diaspora, as the category ethnicity masks, or rather strengthens, relations of dominance between different Comorian communities. In this regard, the Comorian diaspora in France was and continues to be shaped by a majority with ties to the largest island of Ngazidja, embedded in the relationship between migration and the accomplishment of the customary marriage, called Grand Mariage (“Great Marriage”) which especially shapes societal relations on Ngazidja (see Blanchy 1998; Vivier 1996 on this relationship). Majority relations hence also shape power relations regarding representations and practices of Comorian culture as ‘custom’ referred to by the concept of aada na mila (‘customs and traditions’; Damir 2004, 64).5 As I will outline, especially younger generations express a critical standing towards aada na mila and which also goes hand in hand with a positionality as ‘Franco-Comorian’, which I will also employ throughout this book as an emic category. In the French context, hyphenated identities are predominantly used to refer to dual citizenship (see e.g. Sharma 2016). In my discussion of cultural practices of younger Franco-Comorian generations (Chapter 6) and Franco-Comorian politicians (Chapter 7), Franco-Comorianness as a hyphenated identity represents more than a legal category in the context of the Comorian diaspora: It reveals multiple forms of ethnicised belonging in a context of diaspora that contests ethno-cultural particularism shaping French Republican citizenship (Guénif-Souilamas 2006b, 26), while also negotiating homogenising discourses of Comorianness. The context of the Comorian diaspora is connected to historical and present experiences of African and Black diasporas in the European context (see e.g. Hine, Keaton, and Small 2009; Koegler et al. 2020) and especially in the French context (see e.g. Gueye 2010; Ndiaye 2008; Thompson 2020). The notion of ‘African diaspora’, drawing on the Jewish experience of diaspora, was first used by the historian George Shepperson at a pan-Africanist conference in 1964 in Dar es Salaam, today Tanzania, then colonial Tanganyika (Tölölyan 2012). The term refers to the violent genealogies of the transatlantic slave trade since the 16th century and the ‘Middle Passage’, a term to describe the forced mobility of enslaved Black people from the African continent to the Americas, the Caribbean and, to a lesser extent, Europe (Braziel 2008, 18). The history of the Comoro islands is similarly embedded in genealogies of enslavement and forced displacement of African populations, however in the context of the Indian Ocean slave trade and the Omani empire (see Blanchy 2013). Considering these histories of enslavement as well as the genealogies of (Arab) imperialism and (European) colonialism, articulations of Comorianness have especially been shaped by power relations on the basis of dominant notions of Arabness and marginalised Africanness (Blanchy 2010, 14; Walker 2010, 190). I agree with authors, such as the social

4 Introduction

anthropologist Iain Walker (2010, 14f., 201), who emphasise hybridisation and creolisation processes in the context of the Comoros while also situating the Comoro islands within an African context. However, the Comoros are among the few Sub-Saharan African countries to also be part of the Arab League, ref lecting the political, cultural and economic positioning of the Comoros as part of the ‘Arab world’. I hence do not intend to ‘fix’ Comorians within an African identity, but rather show how notions of Africanness are articulated and/or contested in the context of diaspora and contemporary France (see Bloom, Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009). I further follow a widespread understanding of Black as a political positioning (Kuria 2015, 22) that is not reducible to skin colour and which has, especially since the first decade of the 21st century, increasingly shaped academic and activist debates and movements in a Francophone context by articulating experiences as Black French (see e.g. Fais and Smith 2007; Keaton, Sharpley-Whiting, and Stovall 2012; Thompson 2020).6 In line with such an argumentation, the sociologist Abdoul-Malik Ahmad (2019) emphasises the relevance of Blackness in his analysis of the intersectional power relations affecting Comorian women’s subjectivities and their informal business activities in Marseille (30f.). Ethnicisation and racialisation processes in the context of the Comoros are hence manifold and are newly articulated in the context of diaspora. The representation of French Republicanism as a counter-model to ­British multiculturalism has made debates on political representation as ethnicised and racialised communities very complicated, as these demands are fast dismissed as communautarisme (see Lévy 2005). Literally translatable as ‘communitarianism’, this term does not have much in common with the­ Anglo-American notion, as it is used in public and political discourse to dismiss any reference to a community which is not the ‘national community’ as the Republic’s Other. As the sociologist Nacira Guénif-Souilamas (2006b, 30) outlines, the Othering implicated in the notion of communautarisme is intersectional in that it especially targets sexualised and ethnicised communities. Accordingly, it is a unified and unifying republicanism that claims to tolerate diversity and difference but in fact imposes a code of invisibility on specific and constructed groups of individuals (homosexuals, disabled, migrants, ethnic and racial minorities, women) in the name of a so-called Jacobin universalism. (ibid., 24f.) From a postcolonial perspective, the discourse of communautarisme ref lects colonial genealogies of a Republican ‘we’ that is opposed to ethnicised and racialised Others (Diouf 2012, 53). Since the mid-2000s, the ‘colonial question’ and the ‘postcolonial question’ have increasingly emerged as important topics within public and academic discourses in and about France and have underlined the importance of discussing ethnicisation and racialisation processes

Introduction  5

in relation to debates on ‘Republicanism’, ‘integration’, ‘(im)migration’, the ‘social crisis’ in French suburbs and the political and economic situation of the ‘Overseas’ departments (see e.g. Bancel, Blanchard, and Vergès 2003; Blanchard, Bancel, and Lemaire 2005a; Bloom, Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009; Fassin and Fassin 2009; Guénif-Souilamas 2006a).7 The debates have to a large extent also been led by activist movements – at that time especially the CRAN (Conseil Représentatif des Associations Noires/Representational Council of Black Associations) and the Indigènes de la République (Indigeneous of the Republic).8 Following the said perspectives, debates on communautarisme need to be situated within the historical context of the emergence of the Third French Republic, which was intrinsically related to colonialism. The Republican principles of ‘equality, freedom and brotherhood’ were not seen to apply to the colonised spaces and populations deemed in need of ‘civilisation’ and subject to racialisation and ethnicisation processes (see Bancel, Blanchard, and Vergès 2003). This ethnicised and racialised distinction inscribed into French Republicanism then shapes Republican citizenship in the postcolonial period, where Black and populations of colour continue to be marked as Others. The universalism promoted by French Republicanism hence represents a specific ethno-cultural particularism and cultural racialism (see e.g. Balibar 1994; Guénif-Souilamas 2006b; Mbembe 2005), in which a particular history, culture and community has been tied to French Republican citizenship (Thompson 2020, 32). Since the late 1980s, discourses of communautarisme have been especially characterised by a targeting of Muslim populations, starting with the affaire de Creil in 1989 in which two female students were expelled from their secondary school, Gabriel-Havez de Creil (Oise), for wearing a hidjab. Since then, debates on communautarisme have centred around the dichotomy of ‘secular Republicans’, representing the Republican values of laïcité, that is, the separation of State and religion, versus ‘communitarist Muslims’, often focusing on young French Arab men who refuse to ‘integrate’ (Blanchard, Bancel, and Lemaire 2005b, 25). This apparent dichotomy has been intensified since the global anti-Muslim discourse in the aftermath of 9/11 and, in particular, the terrorist attacks, referred to as ‘Islamist’, since 2015 in France.9 Since then, public discourse has linked communautarisme to ‘radical Islam’ and ‘Muslim communities’ to a higher degree than before, hence intensifying the a­ nti-Muslim racism that already dominated French public and political discourse before the attacks (see Bozzo 2005). Related to ethnicised Othering, communautarisme has also been used to defame leftist activist movements since the 2000s, considered to be ‘manipulated’ by ‘communautaristes’ subjects and framed as ‘­islamo-gauchisme’ or ‘islamo-leftism’.10 Such accusations and framings take place in the context of policies and legislation, which ref lect anti-Muslim discourse as is the case with the more recent anti-separatism bill which explicitly focuses on “Islamist extremism” (“islamisme radical”; “Loi du 24 août 2021”, n.d.). As I will show throughout the book, ethnicised (self-)governing processes of Comorian communities as Muslim communities are affected by this larger context

6 Introduction

of anti-Muslim racism, resulting in strategic (non-)articulations of religious identity, especially in a political context. At this point, it is important to note that my research was primarily conducted before the état d’urgence, the ‘state of emergency’ which was implemented in the aftermath of the Paris attacks on 13 November 2015. Given the significant political and juridical changes that resulted from the état d’urgence (see Mbongo 2017), this work does not capture phenomena that resulted from this legal and political dispositif. Moreover, my research also does not take into account the various changes brought about by the Covid-19 pandemic which have also intensified Othering practices and strengthened right-wing populism (see Bar-On and Molás 2020). However, my analysis of the postcolonial power relationship between the dominant ‘national community’ and marginalised ethnicised communities contributes to a contextualisation of more recent political developments in France, in particular the increasing cleavage between Republicanism and communautarisme as a result of postcolonial power relations.

Theorising the dispositif of communitarisation The political context of Marseille has especially been linked to ‘communitarist politics’, the mobilisation of ethnicised communities for electoral purposes being associated with clientelism (see Peraldi and Samson 2006). However, this association of Marseille with communautarisme also falls back on the long-standing image of the city as the Other of France, ref lected in references to Marseille as the ‘capital of criminality’, often discussed in relation to migration (see e.g. Mucchielli 2007). In addition to this external view of Marseille as a city of communautarisme, the question of the political and cultural representation of the ‘Comorian community’ was very present at the time of my research, given that different local elections were taking place and that Marseille was the European ‘capital of culture’ in 2013. Due to the importance of community ascriptions and self-representations, I became interested in developing a conceptual framework which allowed me to understand diasporic community-building as part of governing and self-governing processes in the context of postcolonial power relations. Although I do describe processes of community-building, I decided to not primarily rely on this term, as it tends to emphasise ‘bottom-up’ processes in migration research (see Karagöz 2015). The sociological terms ‘communitisation’ or ‘communalisation’, commonly used to translate the concept of Vergemeinschaftung, are not suitable either, as they mainly focus on social processes, leaving out the dimension of politics. Given my political science perspective, I am interested in showing that processes of constructing diasporic community are a result of both (top-down) governing and (bottom-up) self-governing processes, an aspect which the concept of communitarisation seeks to grasp. In order to describe communitarisation as (self-)governing, I came to develop an understanding of communitarisation as a dispositif. Michel Foucault’s

Introduction  7

(1978) concept of the dispositif is linked to his redefinition of government as not only comprising State practices and institutions, but also forms of subjectivation, everyday practices or economic institutions. Often translated as ‘apparatus’ or ‘deployment’ (Bussolini 2010, 86), I retain the French term dispositif instead of its English translation in order to remain closer to Foucault’s use of the concept and its deployment in French public discourse. In the French context, dispositif is an ever-present term with several meanings ranging from descriptions of the implementation of security policies as part of a security dispositif (dispositif de sécurité) up to concrete system set-ups like a dispositif d’alarme, an alarm system (Bührmann and Schneider 2008, 52f.). While Foucault’s use of the word is unmistakably distinct from these everyday examples, I consider its reference to day-to-day life important, as it emphasises the embeddedness of everyday discourse and practice within power relations. The central research question guiding this book is then how the dispositif of communitarisation reproduces itself in the context of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille. Following a performative approach (see Butler 2004, 2006), I consider the relation between discourses and practices as central to communitarisation processes. In order to have an effect, discourses need to be performed; conversely, practices depend on discourses to become meaningful. Consequently, my analysis focuses on the discourses and practices of Comorian communities in Marseille. However, the interplay of discourses and practices takes place within contexts governed by political, economic and ­socio-cultural institutions, which are themselves inf luenced by discourses and practices. Discourses thus shape institutions and practices and vice versa. It is in this framework of discourses, practices and institutions of communitarisation that subjects form and negotiate their identities as part of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille. Postcolonial approaches to diaspora have been strongly shaped by Foucauldian concepts and thus view diaspora identity formation in relation to power (see e.g. Brah 1996; Hall 1990). I build on these perspectives as I theorise the dispositif of communitarisation by linking Foucauldian terminology and methodology, especially the dispositif, biopolitics and subjectivation, with postcolonial, intersectional and performative perspectives on diaspora, culture, identity and ethnicity (Chapter 2). In debates on diaspora, two rather oppositional theoretical positions can be observed. The sociologist Rogers Brubaker (2005, 5) mentions three “core elements” which have remained constitutive within conceptualisations of diaspora: dispersion, homeland orientation and boundary-maintenance. This kind of approach tends to foster essentialising conceptualisations of diaspora because it ties groups of people to certain places and spaces. However, Brubaker also mentions another theoretical position within the field of diaspora studies which stresses notions of ‘hybridity’ (see Hall 1990) and/or ‘creolisation’ (see Glissant 1981), and which he describes with the notion of ‘boundary-erosion’ (Brubaker 2005, 6). From the perspective of these latter approaches, the concept of diaspora negotiates

8 Introduction

notions of belonging, identity and ‘home’ (see e.g. Brah 1996; Tate 2005) as well as the idea of ‘nations’ and ‘cultures’ (see e.g. Gilroy 1993; Hall 1996a). In this view, the focus moves from diaspora to the contextual and relational processes of diasporisation (Dhawan 2013, 48). In my work, I follow this second body of scholarship, as it allows me to understand diasporisation in relation to postcolonial power relations in European contexts, especially the French context. Discourses and practices of postcolonial diaspora provide a means of engaging with the (nation) state and questions of belonging and citizenship and shift the focus to how colonial history and postcolonial presence shape processes of inclusion and exclusion in contemporary France. However, substantial critique has been levelled against the romanticisation of diaspora’s ‘counter-hegemonic potential’ in conceptualisations of diasporic subjects as ‘essentially’ emancipatory or even revolutionary subjects (Manger and Assal 2006, 17f.). What these debates require is a notion of diaspora that is sensitive to power and thus can grasp the emancipatory and reactionary tendencies within diasporic communities (Dhawan 2013, 50). In this regard, the relationship between the dispositif and biopolitics in Foucault’s (1978) work became more and more important to my analysis, as it allowed me to conceptualise communitarisation as the result of governing and self-­governing mechanisms in the context of ethnicised biopolitics, that is, (self-)­governing through ethnicisation (see Çakır and Fritsch 2021; Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2003). Foucault’s concept of biopolitics ref lects his broad notion of governing: “Government of children, government of souls and consciences, government of household, of a state, or of oneself ” (Foucault 1997, 82). Biopolitics hence entails forms of governing population groups through manifold techniques, ranging from state policies to labour regulations and spatialised housing arrangements (see Foucault 1980, 2007). Moreover, biopolitics also includes practices of the self, that is, identity formation and the means for how to deal with certain forms of governing (see Foucault 1988). During my research, my focus shifted towards the question of how diasporic communities and individual subjects engage in biopolitics. I encountered the challenge of thinking through the relation between biopolitics and resistance in the dual function of communitarisation: While subjects are governed through communitarisation seeing as they are addressed or mobilised as ‘communities’, communitarisation also contributes to the self-representation of these subjects. However, viewing communitarisation as self-representation only in terms of resistance is insufficient as it does not take the governing of a group through specific discourses and practices of community into account. Thus, my research paid close attention to the ways in which members of diasporic communities made and make (strategic) use of ethnicised biopolitics to negotiate postcolonial power relations, while simultaneously reproducing said power relations. From a biopolitical perspective, the above-mentioned dichotomy of diaspora as boundary-maintenance versus boundary-erosion is troubled, as communitarisation can imply both and not necessarily in a mutually exclusive

Introduction  9

way. Approaching communitarisation from the perspective of dispositifs, however, means to interrogate the ‘urgence’, the ‘urgency’ (Foucault 1978, 120), that is, the societal and political conditions communitarisation responds to. Consequently, I show how processes of boundary-maintenance and of boundary-erosion in terms of its negotiation are part of (self-)governing ­processes which respond to ethnicised biopolitics shaped by a marking of ethnicised communities as the Other of the French Republic. Consequently, communitarisation in the context of diaspora is related to communitarisation processes on the part of the ‘national community’ which tend to be negotiated, as discourses and practices of diasporic community also negotiate the boundaries of the ‘national community’. As a result, I rather deploy the terms ethnicisation and ethnicised communities instead of ‘ethnic communities’ in order to emphasise this Self-Other relation shaping ethnicised biopolitics (see Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2003). While communitarisation intersects with ethnicisation in that both draw on discourses of a shared ‘origin’ or ‘culture’ (Brah 1996, 237), I argue that communitarisation cannot be equated with ethnicisation, as the former encompasses multiple practices of community and different social categories. In this regard, gender relations have been an explicit focus in research on the Comorian diaspora in France (see e.g. Ahmad 2019; Monne 2016), which I also address in the context of cultural markets (Chapters 4 and 5). Moreover, my analysis builds on the emphasis previous research has placed on the role of customary power relations, aada na mila (see e.g. Blanchy 1998; Direche-­Slimani and Le Houérou 2002; Vivier 1996), in which locality, age classes, gender, class and generation intersect (see Blanchy 2010). In this book, I propose an understanding of customary power relations as part of ­ethnicised (self-)governing processes in the context of diaspora. In doing so, I acknowledge the important role of customary power relations, but situate them within the postcolonial context of the dispositif of communitarisation. Understanding communitarisation as a dispositif situates discourses and practices of the Comorian diaspora within a context of ethnicised biopolitics, which shapes relations between Comorian communities, other ethnicised communities and the dominant society in France as well as between Comorian communities in the diaspora and on the Comoros.

A dispositif-analytical ethnography In my ethnographic study, which comprised two research stays from four to six months each (October 2013 to mid-January 2014 and November 2014 to April 2015), I placed an empirical focus on events, which I heuristically divided into cultural and political events. In the existing research on Comorian diaspora, a differentiation between works dealing with culture (see e.g. Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002) or politics (see e.g. Halifa 2007; Rosenfeld 2013) can be observed. Nevertheless, this research also addresses the manifold relations between culture and politics, for instance highlighting

10 Introduction

cultural associations as spaces for politics (see e.g. Rosenfeld 2013) or emphasising how politics is negotiated in music (see e.g. Englert 2021). Against this backdrop, I decided to focus on both domains – culture and politics – as important spaces for discourses and practices of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille. Moreover, with respect to the cultural domain, a dichotomy between research on customs (see e.g. Barbey 2008) and on popular culture like hip-hop (see e.g. Bretillon 2013) can be identified. Instead of basing my research on such a differentiation, I became interested in how cultural practices become part as well as challenge discourses of ‘tradition’ and ‘customs’. Given the important role of religious, more specifically Muslim, practices in the context of Comorian communities (see Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002), I had to choose whether to engage with religious events and practices. I tried to contact Qu’ran teachers and schools, which represent important community spaces, but soon realised that the predominance of anti-Muslim racism in France and beyond resulted in a reasonable mistrust towards me. However, as will be shown, religious practices tend to intersect with cultural and political practices in the context of the Comorian diaspora. My final empirical focus then entails three cultural events (twarab events, the talent show Etoiles Rasmi and the musical performance Heza, le chemin du taarab; see Chapters 4–6) and two political mobilisations in the course of local elections (the municipal elections of 2014 and the departmental elections of 2015; see Chapter 7). The methodological focus on events corresponded with my interest in understanding diasporic community as a dispositif, as events allow for an analysis of discourses, practices, subjectivations, institutions and space. Moreover, it coincided with my interest in the performativity of communitarisation processes, as I could focus on how diasporic community is mobilised and performed. In my analysis of events, I employed multiple methods, conducting expert (Bogner, Littig, and Menz 2005) and episodic interviews (Flick 2011) with event organisers and artists and politicians involved in the events, engaging in participant observations and collecting audio, visual and audio-visual artefacts (Breidenstein et al. 2013; see also Grabher 2022 on events and feminist ethnography). The choice of methods thus ref lects the overall objective of this book, namely combining political science and ethnography in the context of diaspora research and which coincides with a general increased interest in ethnographic approaches in political science (see e.g. Schatz 2009; Pickel and Yanow 2009) and the emphasis placed on ethnographic approaches in the field of migration and diaspora studies (see e.g. Boccagni 2016; Glick-Schiller 2003; James 2016). Given my own positionality as a white female researcher, the decision to draw on ethnographic methods was a complicated one, given the long-­ standing relationship between ethnography and colonialism (see e.g. Clair 2003; Comaroff and Comaroff 2020; Kilomba 2008; Smith 2012; ), which I ref lect on in Chapter 3. The decision to focus on events was the result of a long research phase, which included encountering different members of the Comorian diaspora, forming friendships and navigating conf licts and negotiations.

Introduction  11

At first sight, the decision to focus on events might go against ethnographic principles, which aim at getting to know the daily life worlds of subjects (see Geertz 1983). However, and as Edward Schatz (2009, 5) critically asks in What Immersion Contributes to the Study of Power: “How much immersion is necessary, appropriate, ethical, and fruitful?”, Schatz takes issue with equating ethnography with immersion – and perhaps also defining some kind of degree to make it ‘ethnographic’ – by emphasising that immersion also depends on the context and thus represents an ethical and political question. The focus on events was not a decision to not engage with daily life worlds; it was rather a methodological choice which was accountable to my positionalities and those of research participants. The more I engaged with discourses and practices of Comorian diaspora, the less I wanted to get ‘behind the scenes’, wanting instead to understand the performativity inscribed in my (research) encounters and how they themselves were part of communitarisation processes. Focusing on events hence also allowed me to understand research relations as well as my own positionalities as part of the dispositif of communitarisation. The research on the musical practice of twarab – part of regular fundraising activities organised by Franco-Comorian associations – was conducted in close relationship with the documentary project Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016), which was a collaboration between the filmmaker Andrés Carvajal, the artist Mounir Hamada Hamza and me in the course of the research project “Popular Culture in Translocal Spaces”.11 The documentary deals with the situation of artists in the twarab community. It traces histories of twarab as a cultural and artistic practice on the Comoros and the diasporic context of Marseille by focusing on personal artistic trajectories. Even though my research and the research for the documentary were independent processes – I conducted my interviews independently and mostly before the start of the film project – the two are still related to a significant degree. On the one hand, the film project emerged due to my research on twarab. On the other, the cooperation with Carvajal and Hamada Hamza strongly shaped the analytical directions I took in my analysis of twarab as a cultural market in Marseille. Without the cooperation, many analytical insights would have been impossible. Although the filming process was not part of my data generation process, it became an important secondary source in my analysis. In terms of research ethics (see e.g. Unger, Narimani, and M’Bayo 2014), I want to especially elaborate on the question of anonymisation and remuneration in a context of postcolonial diaspora. All names of the interviewees were removed and they consented to being referred to by the function in which they had been interviewed. The decision to remove names, in particular in the case of the artists interviewed, was sensitive: Given the focus on personal experiences and the situation of being an artist in Marseille, the interviewees felt that the information they revealed might have negative repercussions on their career, thus making their anonymisation an evident choice. Yet, many interviewed artists, especially in the twarab community, also framed giving an interview as a possibility to become known as an artist; as such they were

12 Introduction

usually interested in having their stage names appear in my work. However, mentioning their stage names would have also allowed for identifying the interviewees, which led me to the conclusion to also not mention the artists’ stage names, with the exception of artists referred to from the documentary Histoires de Twarab à Marseille. Although I consider anonymising the artists as crucial for their protection, this conf lict of interests demonstrates the potential for (re-)invisibilisation through anonymisation (Unger 2014, 25). Remuneration was another ethical question. We gave a monetary compensation of 20 Euros to interviewees who did not give an interview during their work hours, for instance, artists. This form of compensation was related to ethical questions as it presented a means to value the practice of giving an interview as a form of work, especially considering I (and my colleagues) were paid for doing research. Whilst in the case of twarab artists, the compensation was well received, in other cases it was taken as an offense. Even though the proposed amount was small, it was perceived as having an element of potential bribery and going against the voluntary gesture of sharing knowledge with me as a researcher. Consequently, it made me reconsider the question of remuneration in contexts in which money exchange is associated with community obligations (see Chapter 4 on the relationship between culture, economy and custom) and signing documents – in our case a confirmation that the compensation was received – is associated with state control (see e.g. M’Bayo 2014 on informed consent and vulnerability).

The spaces, cultural markets and politics of communitarisation Throughout this book, I discuss the three dimensions of the dispositif of communitarisation: the spaces, cultural markets and politics of communitarisation. The focus on spaces, cultural markets and politics ref lects the empirical research process as well as my conceptual framework (Chapter 2). These three dimensions point to the importance of a broad understanding of (self-) governing processes in the context of postcolonial diaspora, which includes the domain of politics but also emphasises the role of culture (see Gilroy 1993; Hall 1990) and space (see Brah 1996; Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002 on the Comorian diaspora) for the (self-)governing of diasporic communities. Spaces of communitarisation In Chapter 4, I discuss spaces of communitarisation, that is, the relationship between space and discourses and practices of Comorian communities in Marseille. I focus on the spaces of the centre-ville (city centre) and the quartiers nord (Northern districts) as well as the places where the events in focus took and community events still partly continue to be organised, namely the salles de fête (“festivity halls”) in the city’s Northern periphery, and the Dock des Suds, a renowned show venue. I analyse spatial dimensions in the dispositif

Introduction  13

of communitarisation as shaped by and in turn shaping ethnicised bordering, characterised by the relationship between cultural practices of middle-class ‘mixed’ communities and working-class ethnicised communities. Drawing on Avtar Brah’s (1996) concept of diaspora space, I examine bordering in terms of performative practices: Spaces of communitarisation reveal the governing of Comorian communities within ethnicised, racialised and classed borders and show the ways in which policies function as biopolitical practices (Fassin 2009, 48). It is within the framework of these policies that Comorian communities negotiate meanings ascribed to spaces and appropriate spaces through cultural practices. In my analysis, I focus on such negotiations of space in the context of twarab events, part of regular fundraising activities organised by Franco-Comorian associations, and the performance Heza, le chemin du taarab, part of Marseille’s status as European Capital of Culture in 2013. I place a special emphasis on the role of Franco-Comorian associations and artists as community brokers given that they position themselves between different ethnicised communities, including the dominant ‘mixed’ community. Cultural markets of communitarisation In Chapters 5 and 6, I focus on cultural markets as the intersection of culture and economy in an ethnicised biopolitics: The question at stake in these chapters is how diasporic communities are governed through economic and cultural practices, but also how ethnicised origin is mobilised for economic reasons by members of Comorian communities, ref lecting ethnicised entrepreneurship as a form of ethnicised (self-)governing (Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2003, 174). In Chapter 5, I discuss the musical practice of twarab as a diasporic cultural market, embedded at the intersection of cultural, economic and customary practices and institutions of Comorian communities, more specifically, Grand-Comorian communities. I analyse the recurring fundraising events at which twarab music is performed as mobilisations shaped by intersectional relations based on the social categories of locality and age classes, related to the customary system aada na mila (see Blanchy 2010) and which also shape generational and gendered relations. I also analyse the role of artists, for whom the events present a form of (informal) income while also constituting a constraint since it positions them as ‘community artists’. Twarab as a diasporic cultural market then ref lects re-traditionalisation processes in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation, as culture is reiterated as ‘custom’ (Brah 1996, 231) through the re-integration of cultural practices in customary and economic processes. Whereas twarab events represent ethnicised entrepreneurship of older generations, in Chapter 6, I shift my focus to cultural practices of younger generations, namely the talent show Etoiles Rasmi, where younger generations interpreted songs of well-known Comorian artists. I emphasise the performative negotiation of ethnicised identity through cultural practices on the part

14 Introduction

of younger generations, as they articulate hyphenated identities (Hall 1996b) by positioning themselves as Franco-Comorian when faced with ethnicised ascriptions of the dominant French community and Comorian communities. In the context of ‘multicultural Marseille’, ethnicised (self-)governing takes place through ‘ethno-preneurialism’ (Comaroff and Comaroff 2009), as younger generations are interpellated as ethnicised entrepreneurs and draw on ethnicised origin as a cultural and economic resource. While younger generations contest the intersection of custom and culture in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation, the talent show nevertheless reveals re-traditionalisation processes in the context of multicultural markets. This re-traditionalisation is characterised by gendered discourses and practices of ‘tradition’ and commodification processes shaped by discourses of ‘progress’ and ‘modernity’ versus ‘tradition’. Politics of communitarisation In Chapter 7, I focus on the mobilisation of Comorian communities in local elections, more specifically, the mobilisation of the Collectif des Indignés de la Cité Phocéenne (Mobilisation of the Indignants of the Phocaean City; CICIP) during the municipal elections of 2014 and the mobilisation around Mohamed Ali as substitute for Jean-Noël Guérini during the departmental elections in 2015. Drawing on Homi K. Bhabha’s (1994) concept of mimicry, I propose an understanding of communitarisation in the context of local politics as a form of postcolonial mimicry: The mobilisation of ethnicised origin as a political resource ref lects the governing of ethnicised communities through ‘community brokers’, namely Franco-Comorian politicians who are supposed to represent ‘their’ communities. However, it is also by positioning themselves as community brokers that Franco-Comorian politicians negotiate the (non-)place of ethnicised communities in the Republic. The postcolonial mimicry of community brokers thus becomes a form of ethnicised (self-)governing: On the one hand, they partake in governing through ethnicisation and the postcolonial collaborations between customary and religious elites, Franco-Comorian politicians and the political establishment. On the other hand, communitarisation also questions assimilationist notions of Frenchness and practices of membership in the Republic, as it reinscribes difference into the realm of political representation. Together, the three dimensions of the dispositif of communitarisation show how ethnicised governing and self-governing ref lect a postcolonial context, characterised by different urgencies to which communitarisation processes respond: the need for a cultural and political community identity in response to constantly being marked as ethnicised Other and the need for economic, cultural, customary and political networks in the context of diaspora. This latter includes both the representation as an ethnicised community on a ­political, cultural and economic level in France and the importance of socio-­ cultural, customary, economic and political relationships between members

Introduction  15

of the Comorian diaspora and communities on the Comoros. The dispositif of communitarisation hence ref lects postcolonial power relations in France, which constantly ‘communitarise’ Black subjects and subjects of colour, while also showing the importance of communitarisation processes as a strategy for self-representation in the context of diasporisation.

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18 Introduction Guénif-Souilamas, Nacira, ed. 2006a. La République mise à nu par son immigration. Paris: La Fabrique éditions. Guénif-Souilamas, Nacira. 2006b. ‘The Other French Exception: Virtuous Racism and the War of the Sexes in Postcolonial France’. French Politics, Culture & Society 24 (3): 23–41. Gueye, Abdoulaye. 2010. ‘Breaking the Silence: The Emergence of a Black Collective Voice in France’. Du Bois Review: Social Science Research on Race 7 (1): 81–102. doi:10.1017/S1742058X10000196. Gutiérrez Rodríguez, Encarnación. 2003. ‘Gouvernmentalität und die Ethnisierung des Sozialen: Migration, Arbeit und Biopolitik’. In Gouvernementalität: Ein sozialwissenschaftliches Konzept in Anschluss an Foucault, edited by Marianne Pieper and Encarnación Gutiérrez Rodríguez, 161–178. Frankfurt/Main; New York: Campus. Halifa, Azad. 2007. De Marseille aux Comores: Entrée en Politique d’une jeunesse issue de l’immigration. Levallois-Perret: Éditions de la lune. Hall, Stuart. 1990. ‘Cultural Identity and Diaspora’. In Identity: Community, Culture, Difference, edited by Jonathan Rutherford, 222–237. London: Lawrence & Wishart. Hall, Stuart. 1996a. ‘New Ethnicities’. In Stuart Hall: Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies, edited by Stuart Hall, David Morley, and Kuan-Hsing Chen, 441–449. London; New York: Routledge. Hall, Stuart. 1996b. ‘Negotiating Caribbean Identities’. New Left Review 209 ­( January-February): 3–14. Hine, Darlene Clark, Trica Danielle Keaton, and Stephen Small, eds. 2009. Black Europe and the African Diaspora. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Ibrahime, Mahmoud. 1997. Etat Français et colons aux Comores, 1912-1946. Paris: CEROI-INALCO : Editions L’Harmattan. Idriss, Mamaye. 2013. ‘“Mayotte département”, la fin d’un combat? Le Mouvement populaire mahorais: entre opposition et francophilie (1958-1976)’. Afrique contemporaine 247 (3): 119–135. doi:10.3917/afco.247.0119. James, Malcolm. 2016. ‘Diaspora as an Ethnographic Method: Decolonial Ref lections on Researching Urban Multi-culture in Outer East London’. YOUNG 24 (3): 222–237. doi:10.1177/1103308815618138. Karagöz, Zuhal. 2015. ‘Community Building in Diaspora through Political Engagement Forms: Case of Kurds from Turkey in Marseille, France’. In Turkish Migration Conference 2015: Selected Proceedings, edited by Güven Şeker, Ali Tilbe, Mustafa Ökmen, Pinar Yazgan, Ibrahim Sirkeci, and Deniz Eroğ̮ lu, 291–298. London: Transnational Press London. Keaton, Trica Danielle, T. Denean Sharpley-Whiting, and Tyler Edward Stovall, eds. 2012. Black France/France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Kilomba, Grada. 2008. Plantation Memories: Episodes of Everyday Racism. Münster: Unrast. Koegler, Caroline, Deborah Nyangulu, Marc U. Stein, and Felipe Espinoza Garrido, eds. 2020. Locating African European Studies: Interventions, Intersections, Conversations. London; New York: Routledge. Konan, Aude. n.d. ‘In Conversation: France’s “Black Lives Matter” Leader Assa Traoré Is Still Fighting for Her Brother, Adama’. Retrieved 10 August 2021 from, https://www.okayafrica.com/assa-traore-wants-justice-for-adama/. Kuria, Emily Ngubia. 2015. Eingeschrieben: Zeichen setzen gegen Rassismus an deutschen Hochschulen. Berlin: w_orten & meer.

Introduction  19 “La France ne délivre plus de Visa”. May 9, 2018. Retrieved 14 September 2018 from, Jeune Afrique, http://www.jeuneafrique.com/558725/politique/la-francene-delivre-plus-de-visa-aux comoriens/. Lévy, Laurent. 2005. Le spectre du communautarisme. Paris: Amsterdam. “Loi du 24 août 2021”. n.d. Retrieved 10 October 2021 from, https://www.vie-­ publique.fr/loi/277621-loi-separatisme-respect-des-principes-de-la-republique24-aout-2021. Manger, Leif O., and Munzoul A. M. Assal. 2006. Diasporas within and without Africa: Dynamism, Heterogeneity, Variation. Uppsala: Nordiska afrikainstitutet. Mazouz, Sarah. 2017. La République et ses autres: Politiques de l’altérité dans la France des années 2000. Lyon: ENS éditions. M’Bayo, Rosaline. 2014. ‘Keine Wahl haben und doch eine treffen: Ethische Herausforderungen in Der HIV/Aids-Forschung mit afrikanischen Frauen’. In Forschungsethik in der Qualitativen Forschung: Reflexivität, Perspektiven, Positionen, ­edited by Hella von Unger, Petra Narimani, and Rosaline M’Bayo, 115–132. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Mbembe, Achille. 2005. ‘La République et l’impensé de la race’. In La fracture coloniale: La société française au prisme de l’héritage colonial, edited by Pascal Blanchard, Nicolas Bancel, and Sandrine Lemaire, 139–153. Paris: La Découverte. Mbongo, Pascal. 2017. ‘Die französischen Regelungen um Ausnahmezustand’. In Ausnahmezustand: Theoriegeschichte, Anwendungen, Perspektiven, edited by Matthias Lemke, 129–166. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Monne, Livia. 2016. ‘“Voix” de femmes comoriennes à Marseille : étude anthropologique de subjectivités dans l’espace migratoire’. Paris: Paris-EHESS. Mucchielli, Laurent. 2007. Violences et insécurité. Fantasmes et réalités dans le débat français. Paris: La Découverte. Ndiaye, Pap. 2008. La Condition Noire: essai sur une minorité française. Paris: Calmann-Lévy. “Nous voulons exprimer ici notre solidarité avec les universitaires français”. 17 March 2021. Retrieved 10 September 2021 from, https://www.nouvelobs.com/ idees/20210317.OBS41524/nous-voulons-exprimer-ici-notre-­solidarite-avec-lesuniversitaires-francais-par-angela-davis-gayatri-spivak-achille-mbembe.html. Peraldi, Michel, and Michel Samson. 2006. Gouverner Marseille: Enquête sur les mondes politiques marseillais. Paris: Découverte. Pickel, Susanne, and Dvora Yanow. 2009. ‘Interpretive Ways of Knowing in the Study of Politics’. In Methoden der vergleichenden Politik- und Sozialwissenschaft: neue Entwicklungen und Anwendungen, edited by Susanne Pickel, Gert Pickel, Hans-Joachim Lauth and Detlef Jahn, 429–439. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. Roger, Patrick. 2021. ‘Michel Barnier veut supprimer le droit du sol à Mayotte pour lutter contre l’immigration clandestine’. Le Monde, 15 November. Retrieved 20 November 2015 from, https://www.lemonde.fr/election-presidentielle-2022/ article/2021/11/15/presidentielle-michel-barnier-veut-supprimer-le-droit-­dusol-a-mayotte-pour-lutter-contre-l-immigration-clandestine_6102113_6059010. html. Rosenfeld, Lola. 2013. ‘Les Français d’origine comorienne en Îîe de France: la place de l’identifiant ethnique dans l’implication politique’. Dissertation thesis. Paris: University of Paris 7. Schatz, Edward, ed. 2009. Political Ethnography: What Immersion Contributes to the Study of Power. Chicago, IL; London: The University of Chicago Press.

20 Introduction Sharma, Shailja. 2016. Postcolonial Minorities in Britain and France: In the Hyphen of the Nation-State. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. 2012. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous ­Peoples. 2nd ed. London: Zed Books. Stepanik, Hanna. 2021. ‘“Batuku Moves Me”: On Postcolonial Negotiations of the Lisbon Metropolitan Area’. Doctoral dissertation. Vienna: University of Vienna. Tate, Shirley A. 2005. Black Skins, Black Masks: Hybridity, Dialogism, Performativity. Aldershot, Hants, England; Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Thompson, Vanessa Eileen. 2020. ‘“We Have to Act. That Is What Forms Collectivity” Black Solidarity beyond Identity in Contemporary Paris’. In Locating African European Studies: Interventions, Intersections, Conversations, edited by Felipe Espinoza Garrido, Caroline Koegler, Deborah Nyangulu and Mark U Stein, 31–45. London; New York: Routledge. Tölölyan, Khachig. 2012. ‘Diaspora Studies: Past, Present and Promise’, IMI Working Papers Series 2011, 55. Unger, Hella von. 2014. ‘Forschungsethik in der qualitativen Forschung: Grundsätze, Debatten und offene Fragen’. In Forschungsethik in der Qualitativen Forschung: Reflexivität, Perspektiven, Positionen, edited by Hella von Unger, Petra Narimani, and Rosaline M’Bayo, 15–40. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Unger, Hella von, Petra Narimani, and Rosaline M’Bayo, eds. 2014. Forschungsethik in Der Qualitativen Forschung: Reflexivität, Perspektiven, Positionen. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Vergès, Françoise. 2017. Le ventre des femmes. Capitalisme, racialisation, féminisme. ­Collection ‘Bibliothèque Albin Michel Idées’. Paris: Albin Michel. Vivier, Geraldine. 1996. Les migrations comoriennes en France: histoire de migrations ­coutumières. Les Dossiers du CEPED 35. Paris: Centre Français sur la population et le développement. Walker, Iain. 2010. Becoming the Other, Being Oneself: Constructing Identities in a ­Connected World. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. Zakaria, Houssen. 2000. Familles comoriennes face au collège: Entre l’école et la tradition. Paris: Harmattan.

Notes 1 The colonisation of the archipelago happened in distinct ‘stages’: In 1841, France bought the island of Mayotte, which was then attached to the colony of La Réunion, and Nossi-Bé, an island next to Madagascar. The other three islands – Ngazidja, Nzawni and Mwali – were declared ‘protectorates’, which assured them more autonomy. In 1908, all islands became part of the colony of Madagascar. In 1912, the islands that were formerly protectorates changed status and became colonies. In 1946, the status of the Comoros was changed from colony to an ‘Overseas territory’. When the status of the Comoros as a French colony changed again in 1962, it gained more internal autonomy, which included the establishment of a chamber of deputies and a government council with an elected president (Ibrahime 1997, 27ff.). 2 Departments (départments) are administrative and territorial units in the French state. There are currently 96 metropolitan (mainland and Corsica) and five Overseas French departments and regions (départments et régions d’outre mer; DROM). As Françoise Vergès (2017, 16f.) critically outlines, the term ‘Overseas’ (‘outre-mer’)

Introduction  21 ref lects a colonial discourse, which homogenises different experiences of spaces shaped by histories of enslavement and colonialism by marking ‘them’ as racialised Others. 3 Under international law, the presence of France on Mayotte has been considered illegal for decades by the United Nations, as France disrespected the integrity of borders established under colonialism (Caminade 2004, 121). The European migration regime hinders border crossings between the Union of the Comoros and Mayotte since the mid-1990s, with the introduction of visa requirements in 1995 for Comorians of the Union of the Comoros travelling to Mayotte, known as the ‘Balladur law’. This regulation has resulted in the death of thousands of people trying to reach Mayotte on boats – known as kwassa-kwassa – as well as the criminalisation of many Comorians living on Mayotte. The question of migration has been and continues to be regularly instrumentalised by both French and Comorian political actors on Mayotte and in metropolitan France (“La France ne délivre plus de Visa” 2018). Most recently, the right-wing presidential candidate Michel Barnier expressed the populist demand to abolish the droit du sol on Mayotte as part of his populist campaign (Roger 2021). The situation on Mayotte has resulted in various mobilisations in the Comorian diaspora the last years. For an artistic engagement with the situation, see the musical performance Kwassa-Kwassa. Pour le paradis ou même pour l’enfer by M’Baé Tahamida Mohamed aka Soly (see https://www.­facebook.com/ Kwassakwassapiecemusicale, last accessed 15 November 2021). 4 In 1886, the French merchant navy established a shipping line linking Marseille with the Western Indian Ocean, more specifically Mauritius, La Réunion, Madagascar, the Comoros and Zanzibar, via the Red Sea. 5 There exist different writing styles of aada, the most common one being ãda and ada. I follow Walker’s (2010, xii) approach that aada most accurately ref lects the length of the vowel characteristic to this term. 6 See e.g. the documentary project Ouvrir la Voix (2017) by Amandine Gay (see https://ouvrirlavoixlefilm.fr/, last accessed 10 November 2021). 7 Postcolonial relations between France and African countries also shape c­ urrent state practices and discourses, as ref lected e.g. in the summit France-­A frique, organised by president Emmanuel Macron in October 2021 and aiming at ‘redefining’ relations between France and African countries (see https://­sommetafriquefrance. org/, last accessed 10 November 2021). 8 See http://indigenes-republique.fr/ and https://le-cran.fr/, last accessed 05 October 2021. The self-positioning as ‘indigène’, ‘indigenous’, ref lects the appropriation of a term used to mark colonised subjects in French colonies. Since 2010, the Mouvement des Indigènes de la République (MIR) has also resulted in the founding of a party, called Parti des Indigènes de la République (PIR). Whilst the MIR and the PIR have politicised the role of ethnicity and race in France with respect to its colonial past and present, the movement has ignored other forms of racist discrimination in France, especially anti-Semitism (Gèze 2005, para. 43). More recently, activist debates on racist realities have focused on police violence and its relation to postcolonialism. In this regard, see the movement Justice pour Adama, created in the aftermath of the killing of Adama Traoré by the police in 2016 in a police station in Beaumont-sur-Oise (see Konan, n.d.). 9 These attacks include the attacks on the satire magazine Charlie Hebdo in January 2015, the Paris attacks in November 2015 and the Nice attacks in July 2016, which resulted in hundreds of deaths. Since then, several other attacks have been framed as ‘Islamist’, the most recent including a very violent decapitation of the teacher Samuel Paty. 10 In February 2021, education minister Frederique Vidal publicly proclaimed that universities and research in France were inf luenced by “islamo-gauchisme”, which

22 Introduction has resulted in harsh criticism from concerned scholars and international solidarity with French academia (see “Nous voulons exprimer ici notre solidarité avec les universitaires français” 2021). 11 The research project – led by Birgit Englert – was based at the Department of African Studies at the University of Vienna. It has been funded by the Austrian Research Fund (FWF; P 26255-G22; https://translocalculture.wordpress.com/). The focus lied on the role of popular culture practices in the context of two diasporas – the Comorian diaspora in Marseille and the Cape-Verdean diaspora in Lisbon (see Stepanik 2021). The documentary is available on vimeo. For the French version, see https://vimeo.com/288013953; for the English version, see https://vimeo.com/288013953, last accessed 25 November 2021.

2 The Dispositif of Communitarisation as an Analytical and Methodological Perspective

In this chapter, I discuss the theoretical and methodological framework of this book that consists in developing a dispositif analysis on diaspora. To do so, I link Foucauldian terminology and methodology, more specifically his concepts of the dispositif, biopolitics and subjectivation with postcolonial, intersectional and performative approaches to diaspora, culture, ethnicity and identity. In Michel Foucault’s (1978) work, the concept of the dispositif is employed both as an analytical and methodological tool. It ref lects his shift in conceptualising discourse as embedded within larger power relations. The dispositif is linked to Foucault’s (1980a, 2003, 2007, 2008) notion of biopolitics and modes of governing population groups not only through state practices and institutions, but also through other forms of domination, such as economic institutions, as well as practices and perceptions of the self as forms of self-governing.1 The concepts of the dispositif and biopolitics ref lect Foucault’s redefinition of government in terms of governmentality (Foucault 2005, 79), which challenges the act of equating government with the State and its apparatuses.2 In this regard, the dispositif also represents a methodological tool as it provides an understanding of how such manifold forms of (self-) governing operate (Bussolini 2010, 95), focusing on the ­interdependencies of discourses, practices, institutions and subjectivations (see Bührmann and Schneider 2008). It is this twofold dimension of the concept which I came to consider as very useful throughout my research in order to conceptualise governing and self-governing processes in the context of postcolonial diaspora. Throughout this chapter, I develop the main theoretical and methodological framework of this book, namely the dispositif of communitarisation, which refers to discourses, practices, institutions and subjectivations shaped by and shaping diasporic community. In a first step, I link the concept of the dispositif to debates on postcolonial diaspora and outline my analytical focus on communitarisation, that is, processes of being referred to as and of becoming a ‘community’. Second, I develop an understanding of ­communitarisation as a form of (self-)governing as a result of ethnicised biopolitics, emphasising the role of culture and intersecting power relations in (self-)governing processes. Finally, I provide a performative account of communitarisation to grasp the relationship between biopolitics, communitarisation and subjectivation.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665-2

24  The Dispositif of Communitarisation

This performative view posits that communitarisation depends on a constant ­reiteration of community through discourses and practices, which simultaneously opens up possibilities for negotiation and resistance. Following this theoretical discussion, I outline my methods in terms of a dispositif-analytical ethnography, focusing on discourses, practices, subjectivations, institutions and spaces of the Comorian diaspora. Drawing on my theoretical discussion and empirical research process, I conceptualise the dispositif of communitarisation as operating through three main dimensions: the spaces, cultural markets and politics of communitarisation. Together, these three dimensions point out the ‘urgency’ of ethnicised (self-)governing processes in the context of postcolonial France.

Dispositif, postcolonial diaspora and communitarisation In my analysis of the Comorian diaspora, I make use of Foucault’s concept of the dispositif, as it allows me to place an analytical focus on the role of power and discourse in shaping postcolonial diaspora. The concept of the dispositif emerges as a central analytical as well as methodological concept within ­Foucault’s work from the mid-1970s on, ref lecting his shift away from the analysis of scientific disciplines (Foucault 1971) – and hence mere discursive orders – towards larger formations of power, such as sexuality (Foucault 1980a) or liberalism (Foucault 2008), where discourses present one element among others. With the dispositif, Foucault continues his discussion on discourses as historically and geographically situated super-individual formations, which ref lect and shape the context in which they are situated (Diaz-Bone 2006, para. 14f.). Instead of merely representing a ‘given reality’, discourses are to be understood as practices which form the objects they describe ( Jäger 2001, 85). Discourses thus present differentiating and categorising practices, as they mark out the border between ‘true’ and ‘false’ in a specific context and, in doing so, shape the modes of thinking, experiencing, acting and communicating of the subjects involved (Wrana and Langer 2007, para. 6). While discourses encompass the realm of meaning-(re-)production, dispositifs focus on the larger context in which discourses operate. With Keller (2005, 230), dispositifs can be understood as the “material and ideal infrastructure” (translation K.F.) of discourses. In the interview The Confession of the Flesh (1980), Foucault describes this infrastructure as a “thoroughly heterogeneous ensemble consisting of discourses, institutions, architectural forms, regulatory decisions, laws, administrative measures, scientific statements, philosophical, moral and philanthropic propositions — in short, the said as much as the unsaid” (194). While the elements of a dispositif – both the ­discursive and non-discursive, that is, institutions, practices or material arrangements – seem to be quite contextual and situational, it is the relation between the different elements which shall be analysed. Consequently, a discourse might manifest itself in a program of an institution or in contrast contribute to masking a certain practice so that the latter remains ‘silent’ (Foucault 1978, 120). It is

The Dispositif of Communitarisation  25

important to note that for Foucault (ibid., 125) institutions are anything social that cannot be categorised as discourse and represents a system of coercion in a given society. I adhere to this broad understanding of institutions, including socio-cultural, political and economic institutions. In addition to this relational account of the dispositif, Foucault emphasises its strategic function which indicates relations of power, as dispositifs are said to respond to an “urgence” (ibid., 120), an “urgent need” (Foucault 1980b, 195). To Foucault (1978, 138), strategy should not be equated with the individual interests of certain subjects; rather, strategies need to be understood as manoeuvres, as interventions within a certain field of power relations in the sense of strategies without strategists (ibid., 132). In this regard, I agree with Andrea Bührmann and Werner Schneider (2008, 53f.) who underline that a Foucauldian approach does not mean that subjects who are involved in a certain play of power do not also pursue their interests. However, their individual or collective strategies should not be confused with Foucault’s notion of strategy in terms of “a multiplicity of forces” (Bussolini 2010, 92), which depicts an understanding of power as multi-directional, as it can operate top-down as well as bottom-up (Dreyfuß and Rabinow 1982, 185). Moreover, power is understood to be productive, as discourses and power relations ­materialise both as objectified orders, for instance in the form of monuments or artefacts, and as specific forms of subjectivation (Bührmann and Schneider 2008, 95). Consequently, dispositifs are objectifying as well as subjectivising formations. Thus, approaching diaspora as a dispositif entails the analysis of the important elements of a diasporic formation, in terms of the discourses, practices, institutions and forms of subjectivation and material arrangements as well as of the urgencies a diaspora responds to. In Bührmann und Schneider’s (2007, para. 20) interpretation of Foucault, dispositifs represent strategic formations offering ‘solutions’ to broader social, political and economic ‘problems’. The problem-orientation is useful to my research, as it allows me to situate articulations of Comorian diaspora within the context of political, socio-cultural and economic problems members of the Comorian diaspora face in France. However, I also emphasise the notion of an ‘urgent need’, as it points to the importance for self-representations as a diaspora in the context of postcolonial power relations. Consequently, this analysis centres on larger strategies – that is, the power relations shaping a diasporic formation – as well as individual strategies of subjects within such constellations. Such a perspective on diaspora resonates with Avtar Brah’s (1996, 194) conceptualisation of diaspora as an “ensemble of investigative technologies” (emphasis in original), which historicise trajectories of diasporas, connect different diasporas with each other, negotiate notions of origin and bring forth specific diasporic identities. Brah’s description evokes the notion of a network that is to be created between different groups, but also between identities, discourses and practices, in order to become a diaspora. Whereas diasporas are shaped by and in turn shape processes of migration and mobility, it is not the act of migrating that results

26  The Dispositif of Communitarisation

in the formation of a diaspora. A resulting central question is thus how different groups and individuals with different experiences of migration or no first-hand experience of migration become a diaspora in the first place. A dispositif-analytical perspective on diaspora therefore de-essentialises diaspora and analyses how diaspora is brought into being by focusing on “the indeterminate processes of diasporisation” (Dhawan 2013, 48). Given the postcolonial context of the Comorian diaspora, I emphasise the role of postcolonial power relations in shaping diasporisation processes (see e.g. Brah 1996; Braziel and Mannur 2003; Keown, Murphy, and Procter 2009). A postcolonial perspective is interested in colonisation, decolonisation and recolonisation processes, both in the global North and South (Castro Varela and Dhawan 2005a, 24f.). Thus, “the historical link between colonialism and the f low of people, ideas, commodities and capital” (Dhawan 2013, 49) is central to the topic at hand. Moreover, colonial continuities are present in terms of racist Othering in contemporary (Western) European societies, embedded within dichotomies between the ‘West and the rest’, drawing on Stuart Hall’s (1992) famous phrase. Consequently, diasporisation processes need to be analysed as embedded within post-/colonial Othering (see e.g. Mohanty 1997; Said 1979), that is, the discursive marking of a group as an ethnicised and/or racialised Other – usually ascribed to an-Other ‘culture’ or ‘origin’ – that stands in contrast to the dominant unmarked population, usually connoted as the ‘nation’ or ‘majority culture’. Such Othering practices are related to political and economic practices of exclusion of postcolonial communities in European societies. With regard to the UK Braziel (2008, 134) argues that “‘black British’ postcolonial immigrant communities have remained culturally, politically, materially, and socially marginalized from civic rights, citizenship, and employment and academic opportunities”. In a similar manner, Bancel, Blanchard and Lemaire (2005) identify a ‘colonial fracture’ ( fracture coloniale) shaping contemporary France, often associated with the banlieues, the peripheral neighbourhoods as spatial manifestation of the socio-cultural, political and economic exclusion of Black and populations of colour. In a similar manner, Lapeyronnie (2005) describes the banlieue as a ‘colonial theatre’, ref lected in the ongoing infantilisation and traditionalisation of the inhabitants as well as the deprivation of the right to self-representation. In line with such approaches, I view postcolonial France as producing an urgent need for practices of self-representation as ethnicised communities and hence ethnicised self-governing. Postcolonial perspectives on diaspora thus imply a shift in analysing ­societies shaped by migration in that movements and migrations are not considered to be in opposition to (national) societies but are, instead, seen as constitutive of them (Kron and Zur Nieden 2013, para. 5). In this sense, diasporisation processes do not only affect those who have migrated, but also those “staying put” (Brah 1996, 209). Contemporary Western societies then need to be understood as diasporised spaces, shaped by the historical and contemporary migration processes having taken place and still taking place. As transnational

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and translocal phenomena, diasporas tend to question essentialised notions of ethnicised ‘origin’ (see e.g. Gilroy 1993; Hall 1996) and ‘home’ (see e.g. Brah 1996), which also involves spatial dimensions, both in terms of places of residence as well as of spaces imagined as ‘homelands’. With Brah (1996, 189), one might think the notion of home in terms of a ‘homing desire’, shifting the focus to the question of how a specific location – be it a city or a country – becomes a home. ‘Feeling at home’ or claiming a place as ‘one’s home’ – be it the place of residence or of origin, or any other place – might further differ according to the way in which a person is positioned in gendered, class or generational terms (ibid., 190). Discourses and practices of origin hence need to be analysed in the context in which a specific “search for origins” (ibid., 194) takes place. In this regard, Brah’s concept of diaspora space, which she develops in her book Cartographies of Diaspora (1996), offers a spatial and intersectional perspective on diasporisation, situating the formation of a specific diaspora within intersectional power relations, namely gendered, racialised and classed relations (ibid., 193).3 In line with a dispositif-analytical perspective, she asks which “regimes of power inscribe the formation of a specific diaspora?” (ibid., 179) Focusing on British South-Asian female diasporic subjectivities in the UK in the mid-1990s, she describes diaspora space as “the intersectionality of diaspora, border and dis/location as a point of conf luence of economic, political, cultural, and psychic processes” (Brah 2003, 631). Contrary to the dominant association of diaspora with dislocation and displacement, she argues that the joining of the concepts of diaspora and the border produces a politics of location, which she describes as the simultaneous positionality within different intersectional structures of difference (Brah 1996, 201).4 Here, borders are not only territorial lines, but also involve social, cultural and psychic boundaries between an imaginary ‘us’ and the ‘Other’. Othering hence not only entails ethnicised and racialised relations, but intersects with other social categories such as gender or class (see Mohanty 1997; Spivak 1999). It is against the backdrop of Othering that diasporisation takes place. While postcolonial diaspora has often become a synonym for ‘hybridity’ (see Hall 1990) and the emancipatory potential of contesting homogenising notions of statehood and nations, many phenomena of contemporary postcolonial diasporas, like the Indian diaspora, show how (Hindu) nationalism can also be an important dimension of diaspora politics (Dhawan 2013, 50). The concept of diaspora is hence simultaneously related to and in constant tension with the categories of ethnicity and race (see Anthias 1998; Tölölyan 2007). The relation between ethnicisation and diasporisation is of central importance and these two concepts should not be equated as this reproduces the ethnicisation of experiences of diaspora and migration (Glick Schiller 2013, 27f.). Instead, the questions of how diasporisation is embedded in discourses of ‘cultural homogeneity’ and ‘origin’ as well as how such homogenisation processes are negotiated with discourses and practices of ‘hybridity’ or ‘creolisation’ (see Glissant 2011 [1980]) should be examined. To Paul Gilroy (1993, 120), the

28  The Dispositif of Communitarisation

concept of diaspora hence shows the potential to disrupt essentialised discourses of racialised identity: The worth of the diaspora concept is in its attempt to specify differentiation and identity in a way which enables one to think about the issue of racial commonality outside of the constricting binary frameworks – ­especially those that counterpose essentialism and pluralism. In his analysis of Caribbean cinematic practices in the late 1980s, Stuart Hall (1996, 442) identified a “new politics of representation” in the context of postcolonial diaspora, characterised by a de-linking of articulations of ‘ethnicity’ from discourses of ‘race’ and the ‘nation’. Ethnicity is associated with a space of a politics of opposition, a politics of the margins and of the diaspora. Diaspora then always also refers to more than the concepts of race, ethnicity and the nation – described by Bhabha (1990, 211) as “third spaces” – while it can only be understood in relation to them. In this book, I approach this tension in the relation between diasporisation, ethnicisation and racialisation by focusing on communitarisation, that is, processes of becoming and being referred to as a ‘community’. I hence consider communitarisation as a central means to understand how diasporisation and ethnicisation processes work, without seeing these as interchangeable. Often not bound to a nation-state, diasporas are usually referred to as ‘imagined communities’ (see Anderson 2006). In addition to the significance of narratives and imaginations, Brah (1996, 180) points out the importance of lived experiences and practices of community in the context of diaspora, which she refers to as “encountered communities” (ibid., 192). How community is practised can be manifold, in the form of political, cultural and economic practices ref lected in the exchange of goods, capital or ideas (Werbner 2002). In the face of my own research, I view ethnicisation processes as central to communitarisation processes, as self-perceptions and practices of diasporic subjects and communities ref lect a process “by which a group distinguishes itself from another” (Brah 1996, 234), situated in a context of racist Othering. Even though ethnicisation and racialisation should not be equated, the two should also not be separated from each other. While ethnicisation works through discourses of ‘cultural difference’, racialisation processes categorise individuals, groups of people or practices by mobilising discourses of ‘racial difference’ (see Miles 2002). Racialisation processes may also work through discourses of ‘cultural difference’ (see Balibar 2019), while ethnicisation ­­processes similarly may draw on discourses of racialised ‘origins’ (see Brah 1996). As a result, racialised discourses often interact with discourses of the ‘nation’, ‘culture’ or ‘origin’ (Haritaworn 2012, 9). I thus understand communitarisation as shaped by and shaping ethnicised discourses and practices, but I also emphasise that communitarisation can also occur in interaction with other social categories, experiences and practices. Consequently, in the next section, I focus on my understanding of communitarisation as a form of (self-)

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governing in the context of ethnicised biopolitics and emphasise the role of intersecting power relations.

Ethnicised biopolitics, culture and intersecting power relations In conceptualising the dispositif of communitarisation, I combine a ­d ispositifanalytical perspective on diasporic community with a ­biopolitical ­perspective. In this context, I understand communitarisation as a form of governing and self-governing in the context of ethnicised biopolitics. I consider communitarisation as the effect of ethnicised biopolitics, that is, the racist marking of populations of colour as ethnicised Others through discourses, practices and institutions. Against this backdrop, I also emphasise an understanding of communitarisation as a form of self-governing of diasporic communities and its members based on ethnicisation. Consequently, I underline the importance of culture to communitarisation processes and emphasise intersecting power relations regarding (self-)governing processes. From a Foucauldian perspective, the concept of the dispositif is strongly linked to biopolitics, as Foucault analyses biopolitics through the analytical and methodological lens of the dispositif, for instance the sexuality dispositif (Foucault 1980a). More generally, biopolitics refers to the change in the form of governing created by demographic changes and the formation of liberal forms of government in Western Europe and Northern America starting in the mid-18th century (Collier 2009, 84). In Society Must Be Defended, Foucault (2003) explains that at the core of this new form of governing and normalising society is the governing of life “with the body as one pole and the population as the other” (253). On the one hand, individuals are to be disciplined by means of a micro-politics of the body, in institutions like schools, hospitals or workshops (Foucault 2003, 250). On the other hand, this period is marked by the ‘discovery’ of the population as an object of governing through the introduction of techniques like forecasts or censuses. The population becomes an object of knowledge, as it is measured, regulated and controlled, whilst also subjecting itself to techniques of self-governing (ibid., 243). Biopolitics thus also always entails practices of the self, as it shapes the way people feel about and construct themselves and others (Bührmann and Schneider 2008, 31). A Foucauldian understanding of biopolitics can then be understood as a broad lens through which to analyse the manifold power techniques of governing others and the self in a specific context (Collier 2009, 80). In this regard, I especially emphasise Foucault’s discussion of biopolitics in the context of (neo)liberal markets and spaces, as they also shape my analysis of the dispositif of communitarisation. According to Foucault (2003, 247), biopolitics ref lects a shift from disciplinary mechanisms of repression to life-maintaining and even life-enhancing regulatory mechanisms. However, he does not view this change from discipline to regulation as a substitution; rather, he frames it as an intersection of “the norm of discipline and the norm

30  The Dispositif of Communitarisation

of regulation […] along an orthogonal articulation”, understood by him as the characteristic of a normalising society (ibid., 253). In The Birth of Biopolitics (2008, held 1979), he links the emergence of a normalising society to the liberal political economy, where the population is said to be at the centre of economic “rationalities” (21) in terms of profit maximisation and labour force. The central question is how workers are to be regulated – through discipline but also through practices of self-enhancement – in order to be useful to the capitalist system (Oksala 2013, 61f.). In Security, Territory, Population (2007, held 1978), Foucault examines the role of space for biopolitics, as he analyses the different mechanisms of power – that is, discipline and regulation – with regard to their treatment of spaces, adding another form of power, namely “security” (19). He distinguishes the three technologies of power with respect to their different treatment of spaces, which he sums up as follows: “[W]e could say that sovereignty is exercised within the borders of a territory, discipline is exercised on the bodies of the individuals, and security is exercised over a whole population” (Foucault 2007, 25). Spaces are thus central to biopolitics on different levels, including the regulation of state territories, of populations in terms of regulating their existence in these spaces, and of individuals, as they inhabit, use and move within these spaces (see e.g. Legg 2005). In a context of postcolonial diaspora, questions of market logics and spaces then play out in terms of ethnicisation processes against the backdrop of histories of colonialism and postcolonial power relations in Western societies. While Foucault (2003, 258ff.) himself addresses the role of racism with regard to the emergence of biopolitics in Western Europe, he does not really take into account the role of colonialism and postcolonialism in shaping biopolitical governmentality in this very context (see Stoler 1995 on this criticism). However, as emphasised by scholars in the field of intersectional, postcolonial and decolonial studies, racism and the social categories of race and e­ thnicity have been an important site of post-/colonial biopolitics (see e.g. Haritaworn 2012; Mbembe 2001; McClintock 1995; Nichols 2012; Stoler 1995). Accordingly, the constitution of a – predominantly male and white – bourgeois subject in Western Europe in the 18th and 19th century as well as of modern values like ‘liberty’ or ‘freedom’ cannot be analysed independently from colonialism (see Bancel, Blanchard, and Vergès 2003 on the French context). As Anne McClintock shows in Imperial Leather (1995) with regard to Victorian Britain, the self-image of Western bourgeois societies as ‘liberal’ and ‘civilised’ emerged in relation to colonial discourses of the ‘backward’ and ‘uncivilised’ colonised subjects – and hence colonised spaces – as well as ‘deviant Others’ in the metropole, associated with “dangerous classes” (ibid., 216), both in need of regulation and domestication.5 Especially in the French context, domestication coincided with assimilation practices, as ref lected in the mission civilisatrice, the ‘civilising mission’. Both have shaped discourses and practices of ‘integration’, still understood as assimilation in the postcolonial period (Guénif-Souilamas 2006a, 9, 30). Most literally, the French term

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naturalisation ref lects the biopolitical underpinnings of obtaining the French nationality in terms of becoming French ‘by nature’. Current neoliberal regimes in countries of the global North are characterised by the idea of having ‘left behind’ colonial images, promoting Western countries as ‘mixed’, ‘tolerant nations’, often contrasted with the ‘non-mixed’ global South. However, as Jin Haritaworn critically remarks in Biopolitics of Mixing (2012) with respect to the UK, a separation into positive and negative ‘mixes’ has emerged, with the ‘cosmopolitan citizens’ representing the desired ‘mix’ and the “second generationalities that fail to integrate” (11) as the ‘bad mix’. In France, similar discourses can be observed especially with regard to the ongoing racist marking of French Arab young men as the ­‘dangerous’ Others of the French Republic and the ‘French nation’ (Guénif-­ Souilamas 2006b, 24). Postcolonial neoliberal contexts are hence shaped by an ­ethnicised biopolitics that, on the one hand, works through discourses and practices marking ethnicised populations as the Other, and, on the other, through discourses and practices that frame ‘integration’ and ‘inclusion’ in terms of ‘multiculturalism’, ‘diversity’ and the ‘mixing’ of population groups. Both forms of biopolitics share the same discursive construction of ethnicised and racialised groups which should or should not be ‘mixed’ (for a critical discussion on ‘mixing’ and its relation of tension with creolisation, see Gutiérrez Rodríguez and Tate 2015). In the context of discourses of ‘mixing’, ‘diversity management’ and neoliberal capitalism, ethnicity is increasingly mobilised as a form of capital. Ethnicised subjects are asked to use their ‘ethnicity’ for economic purposes, resulting in practices of ethnicised (self-)governing described as ‘ethno-­ preneurialism’ (Comaroff and Comaroff 2009) or ‘migrant entrepreneurship’, the latter promoted through EU ‘integration’ and labour policies (Çakır and Fritsch 2021, 106). The appropriation of spaces of diasporic self-organisation and self-representation on the basis of capital accumulation is thus central to ethnicised biopolitics (Mitchell 1997, 262). In a similar manner, Brah (1996, 230) links the commodification of culture in the context of diaspora to global regimes of accumulation which affect “regions, localities, households and individuals”. The embeddedness of cultural production in a global context of capital accumulation indicates the relationship between cultural and economic practices in the ethnicised (self-)governing of diasporic communities. It is against the backdrop of ethnicised biopolitics that diasporic communities and their members then position themselves as ‘culturally different’. With Brah (1996, 321), one might say that culture is a “space where the entanglement of subjectivity, identity and politics is performed”. The relation between culture, politics and subjectivity expresses the political character of culture, while it also ref lects the importance of culture as a sphere for (bio-)politics and identity formation as a community. With regard to youth cultures in post-war Britain, Hall and Jefferson (2006, 4) describe the role of culture for a group’s identity more generally: “Culture is the way the social relations of a group are structured and shaped: but it is also the way those

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shapes are experienced, understood and interpreted” (ibid., 4). In Hall and Jefferson’s conceptualisation, culture is as much about the power relations shaping a group as it is about how actors ascribed to the group experience and negotiate these relations. While their approach tends to emphasise the role of culture as a form of governing, I also underline the role of cultural practices as a form of self-governing, that is, how group identity is actively produced through cultural practices and how such practices shape power relations within and between communities. Ethnicised (self-)governing then not only shapes the borders between ethnicised groups and the dominant society, but it also shapes power relations ‘within’ ethnicised communities (Brah 1996, 193, 235). Such power relations are constituted by different social categories as well as their intersections. Cultural studies have ‘traditionally’ emphasised the ­relation between class and cultural group identity (see Hall and Jefferson 2006). Consequently, discourses and practices of culture need to be placed in relationship to structures and practices of socio-economic inequality, which shape relations between dominant and marginalised cultures, the l­atter ­often being associated with popular culture (Hall 1998, 449). What is ‘popular’ thus always depends on what is perceived as the dominant or ‘normal’ ­culture. In French discourse, the class connotation of the term ‘popular’ – populaire – becomes evident as the term ‘classes populaires’, ‘popular classes’, is used to refer to – mostly ethnicised and racialised – working-class populations (Fassin and Fassin 2009, 6; Wacquant 2008, 154). (Queer-)Feminist, postcolonial and diaspora studies have emphasised the relationship between culture, gendered and sexualised relations (see e.g. Campt and Thomas 2008; Patton and Sánchez-Eppler 2000; Werbner 2002) and between culture and generation (see e.g. Berg 2011; King, Christou, and Levitt 2014). Diasporas are then gendered and transgenerational communities. Gendered relations become evident, as the body of ‘migrant women’ is marked simultaneously as the antithesis of Western liberal democratic values (Sauer 2011, 29ff.) and the ‘carrier’ of ‘culture’ and ‘tradition’ in the context of diasporic communities (Anthias 1998, 573). Contexts of migration and diasporisation in particular also require an analysis of the social category of generation, as diasporic communities present multi-generational groups that relate differently to the cultures they are ascribed to and/or ascribe themselves to (Brah 1996, 194). Ethnicised biopolitics are hence shaped by and in turn shape intersecting power relations. Accordingly, Haritaworn (2012, 13) emphasises the use of a “radical intersectionality lens” within a biopolitical approach in order to grasp the “contingent and contradictory mobilizations of race, class, disability, sexuality and other ideologies of morality and stock that in the current liberal post-multicultural context are pitted as mutually exclusive and competitive”. In a similar manner, Didier Fassin (2009, 47) draws attention to the link between biopolitical perspectives and analyses of inequalities. He coins the concept of “bio-inequalities” (ibid., 49), which entails an analysis of how life is governed through “discourses, programmes, decisions, actions”

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(ibid., 48). Given my understanding of the dispositif of communitarisation as shaped by and shaping ethnicised biopolitics, I focus on the question of how ­Comorian communities, situated within complex intersecting power relations, are ­governed and govern themselves through cultural, political and economic practices. Due to the diasporic context, I emphasise the interplay of postcolonial power relations in France, especially Marseille and power relations that are specific to Comorian communities, which I refer to as community-­related power relations.6 Members of diasporic communities negotiate their subjectivities in an ethnicised biopolitics, which I discuss in the next section.

Subjectivation, performativity and mimicry A dispositif-analytical perspective also requires an analysis of subjectivation processes. In a post-structuralist sense, to Foucault, subjects are not ‘autonomous’ individuals who possess a ‘free will’; rather humans are turned into subjects through power techniques: This form of power applies itself to immediate everyday life which c­ ategorizes the individual, marks him by his own individuality, attaches him to his own identity, imposes a law of truth on him which he must recognize and which others have to recognize in him. It is a form of power which makes individuals subjects. (Foucault 1982, 212) To Foucault, subjectivation implies a process of subjugating oneself to practices of power. In this regard, he addresses individualisation as a specific articulation of subjectivation in Western societies since the 15th and 16th centuries. Subjectivation processes hence always also include practising one’s “own identity by a conscious self-knowledge” (ibid.). Subjectivation is hence to be understood as part of biopolitics, as subjects are governed and govern themselves while situated in power relations. Bührmann and Schneider (2008, 69), following a Foucauldian notion of subjectivation, argue that an analysis of subjectivation needs to differentiate between discursively produced subject positions and forms of subjectivation. The former comprises the dimension of how individuals are addressed by discourses, whilst the latter focuses on how subjects understand themselves as well as how they negotiate and position themselves relative to the subject positions provided to them within discourses. In the context of the dispositif of communitarisation, the central question is how individuals are addressed as communities and how they present themselves as communities, that is, how they perform communities. Communitarisation then becomes both a power effect when viewed as a subject positioning provided by dominant discourse and a form of self-representation, a form of subjectivation related to specific practices or performances. In this

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last theoretical section, I develop an understanding of communitarisation as performative, in the sense that communities are brought into being through discourses, practices and institutions; but it is also through the iterative moments of bringing communities into being that moments of negotiation and resistance occur, on the part of both communities and individual actors. I follow a Butlerian notion of performativity that proposes a de-­essentialised conceptualisation of the (gendered and sexualised) body, as it implies a “cohesion between the claim and the performance (the bodily arrangements, actions, look and behaviour of the person making the performative claim)” (Charusheela 2010, 1148). Norms govern social practices, which usually remain “implicit, difficult to read” (Butler 2004, 48) and shape the “grid of legibility” (ibid., 42) of social realities. Yet, following Derrida’s (2009 [1986]) notion of iteration as différance – the non-identical repetition of signifying practices in space and time –, to Judith Butler, every performance opens possibilities for change and subversion. Agency is understood as a paradoxical situation in the sense that one is constituted by a social order one does not choose, which simultaneously is also the condition of one’s possibility to act (Butler 2004, 3). The (gendered and sexed) body is hence (thought of as) the materialisation of discursive power, that is, its embodiment: It is through bodily practices that the norm is inscribed on bodies, while it is also through bodily practices and forms of embodiment that the norm can be reworked and possibly contested. While in Gender Trouble (2006 [1999]) and Bodies that Matter (2011 [1993]), Butler proposes a re-framing of gendered and sexed bodies and identities as performative reiterations of discursive power, critical race and diaspora studies emphasise the performativity of ethnicised, racialised and cultural identities. Debates on culture and postcolonial diaspora offer an understanding of the historical constitution of cultural identities as well as their performative character. Stuart Hall (1990) describes these two dimensions in the context of Caribbean cinematic practices in the late 1980s as follows: “Cultural identities come from somewhere, have histories. But, like everything which is historical, they undergo constant transformation. Far from being eternally fixed in some essentialised past, they are subjected to the continuous ‘play’ of history, culture and power” (ibid., 225). Identity then represents a positioning in terms of a momentary fixing of specific attributes at a certain time and within a certain space. The notion of playing ref lects the above-mentioned post-structuralist understanding of identity as never fixed, as subjected to the ‘play of difference’. Hall underlines the role of popular culture as an important cultural practice in the context of diaspora, in which such a play of difference takes place: It is to insist that in black popular culture, strictly speaking, ethnographically speaking, there are no pure forms at all. Always these forms are the product of partial synchronization, of engagement across cultural boundaries, of the conf luence of more than one cultural tradition, of

The Dispositif of Communitarisation  35

the negotiations of dominant and subordinate positions, of the subterranean strategies of recoding and transcoding, of critical signification, of signifying. (Hall 2004, 260) Hall proposes an understanding of popular culture as a space where dominant and marginalised cultures encounter each other, are played with and reshuff led in a new way. While popular culture has often been associated with hybridisation processes, in the context of diaspora, discourses of community often circulate around the notion of ‘tradition’ and ‘custom’ and are often conceived as the counterpart of hybridisation processes (Brubaker 2005, 6). From a perspective focused on performativity, however, the notion of tradition and custom also becomes de-essentialised, since it depends on the constant repetition through subjects, practices and forms of embodiment. Brah (1996, 231) thus also refers to “customs, traditions and values” as “cultural artefacts” to be performed just like popular cultural artefacts. A performative understanding of cultural difference then conceives of difference as the effect of historical processes as well as the discourses and practices of subjects in an attempt to become ‘legible’ subjects in a world shaped by discourses of multiculturalism and pluralism, on the one hand, and nationalism and racism, on the other. Against this backdrop, José E. Muñoz (2006, 679) describes the performativity of race and ethnicity as a “political doing, the effects that the recognition of racial belonging, coherence, and divergence present in the world”. Muñoz focuses on queer Latina subjectivities and underlines ethnicised identity as one effect of the performativity of race, which harks back to the previously addressed relationship between ethnicisation and racialisation as well as the resulting different forms of embodiment and subjectivities. Race and ethnicity are then to be understood as a discursive “structure of feeling” (Tate 2005, 149) which works through processes of exclusion and inclusion. The affective dimension indicates the performativity of ethnicised and racialised subjectivation and embodiment in terms of community belonging. In Black Skin, Black Masks, Shirley A. Tate (2005) discusses the performativity of Black subjectivities among women of Caribbean heritage in the UK and offers a useful perspective on how to conceptualise communitarisation as a performative process of homogenisation: “In order to be placed within the home of Black community, difference has to be denied, sameness must be naturalized” (ibid., 33). According to Tate, the Black community needs to differentiate itself from the dominant white community, for which asymmetries and hierarchies within the Black community must also be denied. In light of such homogenising discourses, subjects negotiate their identities and (may) produce subjectivities that differ from a “changing same” (Gilroy 1993, cited in ibid., 34), that is, the norm which is also never completely stable. Tate describes the performativity of Black community in terms of naturalised sameness, but also points to the negotiation and performative reconstruction

36  The Dispositif of Communitarisation

of diasporic community among its members. I view these two dimensions as part of communitarisation in that the biopolitical (self-)governing of communities also entails processes of resistance and negotiation of both ‘external’ and ‘internal’ ascriptions. Consequently, the performativity of ‘Comorian community’ stands in relation to the dominant ‘French community’ and the ‘national community’ as well as to different articulations and practices of ‘Comorian community’ among its members. With regard to an understanding of communitarisation as performative, I further draw on Homi K. Bhabha’s (1994) concept of mimicry, as it offers a perspective on the role of ethnicised and racialised identity as a form of agency in the context of post-/colonialism. At the heart of Bhabha’s concept lies the colonial strategy of assimilating colonised subjects by means of ‘culture’, while constantly re-installing a racialised difference between coloniser and colonised. In Location of Culture (1994), he gives the example of the British missionary Charles Grant, who in British parliament defended the ‘need’ to establish what Bhabha refers to as a “‘go-between’ class” through British Christian education: “a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals and in intellect” (Macaulay, quoted in Bhabha 1994, 87). On the one hand, mimicry presents a colonial strategy of governing ethnicised and racialised groups through cultural assimilation. On the other hand, mimicry, which is performative in the sense that repetition becomes a mean through which to shift meaning and representation, also turns the gaze onto the dominant: “[M]imicry produces subjects whose ‘notquite sameness’ functions like a distorting mirror which fractures the identity of the colonizing subject” (Castro Varela and Dhawan 2005b, 324). Mimicry thus always also destabilises the dominant order, as it functions as a kind of mirror of the dominant society. In this regard, mimicry is not understood as a conscious practice of resistance, but rather as unintended ruptures in dominant discourse. While the question of the relation between mimicry and conscious – political or cultural – practices of resistance remains open (Castro Varela and Dhawan 2015, 234, 246), it nevertheless permits a focus on the manifold negotiations of cultural ascriptions and self-descriptions among ethnicised and racialised subjects. As Moore-Gilbert (1998, 136) has critically noted, Bhabha’s analysis too easily equates the forms of agency of postcolonial subjects with historical forms of agency of colonised subjects. However, to Bhabha, postcolonialism is not a rupture but a continuity between the colonial and the postcolonial period (Castro Varela and Dhawan 2015, 221). His perspective resonates with Foucault’s (2005, 121f.) notion of a strategic refilling of dispositifs in the sense that former (self-)governing strategies can reappear at another moment and in another context. With respect to the dispositif of communitarisation, a central question is thus in which must say: ways mimicry represents a strategy of ­governing through ethnicisation and racialisation but also as a performative negotiation of ethnicised community in postcolonial France. Given the role of naturalisation and assimilation discourses in France, mimicry offers a

The Dispositif of Communitarisation  37

useful perspective to understand how discourses and practices of ‘integration’, ‘national belonging’ or citizenship work through ethnicisation and racialisation, but also how postcolonial identities are negotiated by performatively appropriating these discourses and practices. As various authors have criticised (e.g. Castro Varela and Dhawan 2015, 280f.; McClintock 1995, 65), Bhabha’s mimicry is an ungendered and unclassed one, thus raising the question who can perform mimicry in the first place.7 As Castro Varela and Dhawan (2005b, 330) critically note, it is the postcolonial migrant elite who usually can perform mimicry, thus ref lecting the intersection of class and ethnicisation. The respective criticism of the concept of mimicry ref lects a broader critique on the limits of performativity if not discussed with respect to institutional categorisation practices, material relations and materiality (Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2001, 53f.; Strüver and Wucherpfennig 2009, 119ff.). Consequently, communitarisation as a form of exclusion through Othering as well as inclusion in terms of community membership cannot be totally grasped through the lens of normativity and the performative acts of subjects; rather, there is a need to place the performativity of communitarisation in relation to ethnicised biopolitics, which categorises and differentiates individuals according to an Othered ‘culture’ and ‘community’. I therefore examine ‘Comorian community’ as a performative discourse in which members of the Comorian diaspora are addressed and present themselves as part of a ‘community’. How these interpellations affect different subjects and how they relate to such interpellations depends on their social positioning in terms of gender, class or generation as well as the social realities they are living in, such as working environments or family relations. Consequently, the performative effects of communitarisation are not the same for all subjects, as communitarised subjectivation also depends on the social and material conditions an individual actor can draw on. A biopolitical account of the limits and possibilities of performativity hence takes into account the role of social categories and their intersections in shaping the possibilities for change and negotiation of individual and community identities.

A dispositif-analytical ethnography Even though ethnographic approaches are usually associated with anthropological research and the analysis of culture, they have gained in importance within political science, as they are particularly suitable for analyses of power through ‘immersion’ in social contexts (see Schatz 2009). Ethnography is seen as reintroducing important dimensions of politics, often neglected by the ­focus on the materialist-institutional domain, namely the symbolic-cultural, ­local, micro-level and “actual” dimensions (Kubik 2009, 27). An ­ethnographic ­approach to politics furthermore corresponds with a dispositif-analytical perspective, interested in the domains of meaning-making, concrete practices and larger power relations (Bührmann 2006, para. 34ff.). As Brah underlines, diasporic community is constituted through the mobilisation of “collective

38  The Dispositif of Communitarisation

identities and resources” (Brah 1996, 240). Following an understanding of communitarisation as a dispositif shaped by and shaping intersecting power relations, I aim to understand how and why notions of diasporic community are being mobilised and how such mobilisations work in interaction with social categories of difference in the context of the Comorian diaspora in postcolonial France. In order to analyse mobilisations of diasporic communities, I conducted ethnographic research (October 2013–January 2014/November 2014–April 2015) with a special focus on political and cultural events. The methodological focus on events allowed me to approach my research interest in various ways. First, it permitted me to generate data on how communitarisation takes place in both discursive and non-discursive practices. I could observe and be part of how diasporic community was performed in political and cultural mobilisations of Comorian communities and which social categories inf luenced this mobilisation. This involved analysing artistic performances and political speeches and examining practices like seating orders or accompanying activities. Second, a focus on events also allowed me to understand the research relations as well as my own positionality as a white female PhD student from Austria as part of communitarisation processes, as discussed in more detail in Chapter 3. Third, studying both cultural and political mobilisations corresponded with my interest in studying the politics inscribed in culture and the cultural discourses and practices inscribed in politics. The focus on events was a result of the research process rather than the initial aim of the empirical study. In order to understand communitarisation as a dispositif, it was important to get to know dominant as well as marginalised actors, discourses, practices and institutions. It soon became evident to me that associations were the predominant form of organisation, and were mostly linked to Ngazidja, ref lecting the majority group in the Comorian diaspora (see Blanchy 1998; Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002). Moreover, most of the associations were and are organised around the social category of locality, usually referred to as ‘associations villageoises’, ‘village associations’. This ref lects customary power relations which centre around locality as a social, political, economic and spatial reference (see Blanchy 2004; Walker 2010, 128ff.). As a result, I contacted associations grouped around certain localities as well as youth associations and representatives of women’s groups, which were usually not organised around specific ‘villages’ or ‘regions of origin’. Moreover, I contacted associations from different islands, ultimately conducting interviews with representatives of associations with ties to Ngazidja, Mwali and Mayotte. During my first research stay, it was very common to be invited to an event organised by a Franco-Comorian association I had just met and/or conducted an interview with. These cultural or religious events were mostly related to customary practices (see Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002 on a description of these events). Events, as I found after my first research stay, played an important role whenever questions of community were addressed.

The Dispositif of Communitarisation  39

However, while I was often invited to cultural and social events, invitations to political events were a more sensitive issue. In some cases, I got invited to political meetings, which, however, was not approved by all actors involved. Consequently, I also shifted my main focus to the public events, where my presence was also considered as part of a larger public mobilisation. The dominant representation as a community by means of culture ref lects the lack of representation of ethnicised communities in French politics (see e.g. Guénif-Souilamas 2006c), while also pointing to the predominance of discourses of ethnicised origin in the cultural domain (see e.g. Mendjeli and Raibaud 2008). This focus on cultural representations also posed a challenge to me in terms of avoiding representations of diaspora solely based on ethnicising ascriptions, while at the same time being aware of the role of ethnicised relations in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation. Against this backdrop, I finally chose five cultural and political events as my main empirical corpus. The distinction between cultural and political events was heuristic and followed the logics of the contexts in which the research took place. Based on the discussion of the role of musical practices in diasporic contexts (see Gilroy 1993; Hall 1990) and given the predominant role of musical practices in Comorian communities, I chose to focus on musical cultural events. However, in cases where other cultural and artistic practices were performed at musical events, I also took these into consideration. I differentiated between community-related cultural events showcasing the musical practice of twarab, which dominates fundraising activities among Franco-Comorian associations, and events which pursued the objective of promoting Comorian culture in a dominant ‘multicultural market’. Regarding the latter, I focused on two events, namely Etoiles Rasmi, a talent show organised by a Franco-Comorian association in a well-known concert venue in Marseille, the Dock des Suds, and a musical performance on the history of twarab music titled Heza, le chemin de taarab (‘Sing, the journey of taarab’), which took place as part of Marseille-Provence European Capital of Culture in 2013. With respect to political events, my empirical focus was placed on political mobilisations of Comorian communities in local politics. The mobilisation around the Collectif des Indignés de la Cité Phocéenne (Collective of the Indignant of the Phocaean City; CICP) was an initiative by Franco-Comorian politicians and representatives of Franco-Comorian and Maorais associations during the municipality elections of 2014 lobbying for more representation as a community in local politics. In contrast, the mobilisation around Mohamed Ali as a substitute for Jean-Noël Guérini, former president of the Departmental Council, represented a rather classic version of clientelistic proxy politics in the context of the departmental elections. Data collection Following the principle of ‘thick descriptions’, I worked on “detailed descriptions of settings, events, activities, interactions, persons, language, and

40  The Dispositif of Communitarisation

so forth” (Schwartz-Shea and Yanow 2009, 59) with regard to the respective events. I conducted participant observations (Breidenstein et al. 2013), collected promotional and documentation material and held expert (see Bogner, Littig, and Menz 2005) and episodic interviews (Flick 2011), which resulted in a final corpus of 32 interviews, 6 protocols and 12 audio-visual documents. In addition to this primary material, I also collected and/or documented ­secondary material like newspaper articles, policy material or advertising material, including billboards or posts on social media. Expert interviews with event organisers, managers of event halls as well as representatives of political and cultural institutions provided me with data on the meanings ascribed to the events, modes of mobilisation and the role of spaces.8 By means of episodic interviews with (Franco-)Comorian ­artists, I aimed at engaging with forms of subjectivation, focusing on their experiences, artistic practices and social positionings.9 The interviews usually lasted an hour and were conducted in different places – office spaces, private homes, cafés, depending on where the research participants wished to meet. The artists’ positionalities differed with regard to gender, class, generation and experience of migration. Given the often-precarious situation of artists, ­especially in the twarab community, I anonymised all interview partners. Moreover, since the modes of migration in the context of postcolonial migration regimes are a sensitive topic, I let interviewees decide whether or not they wanted to elaborate on their migratory trajectories. French was the main language of communication for me. Whereas I understand small bits of Shingazidja given my knowledge of Swahili, I decided to focus on interview partners with whom I could communicate in French, as I felt more capable of creating a good atmosphere for the interviews. I am aware that this choice partly resulted in a reproduction of power relations in terms of language, as for example working-class female twarab artists usually speak less French than middle-class Franco-Comorian politicians. Especially in the case of my research on twarab, the cooperation with Mounir Hamada Hamza in the context of the film project Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016) was crucial as it allowed me to get to know the realities of twarab artists through conversations held by Hamada Hamza and other artists. The discussions were often held in Shingazidja and helpfully translated by another colleague, Ahmad Abdoul-Malik. The documentary hence became an important secondary source for my analysis. In terms of participant observation, I attended the events – with the exception of the performance Heza, le chemin du taarab since the performance took place before my research stay – as well as event-related activities like press conferences, rehearsals as well as organisational meetings. In order to be able to focus better on the activities and interactions taking place at events, I recorded the speeches using a recorder device or drawing on audio-visual promotional and documentation material provided by event organisers, played on the local antenna of the ORTC (Office de Radio et Télévision des Comores/National Radio and Television Channel of the Comoros) or

The Dispositif of Communitarisation  41

distributed on social platforms like Facebook or YouTube and official media channels.10 I did not take notes on the performances in terms of musical skills or lyrics, as I was not interested in the musical performance on a strictly artistic level. However, if lyrics were discussed by the artists during the performances or if artists referred to their lyrics in the interviews, I did take them into account. In the events, I was involved in different ways as a researcher, ranging from a mere spectator to participating more actively, as was the case when I became part of the volunteer crew at Etoiles Rasmi. Especially in the case of community-related events, it became evident to me how the public character of the event was linked to communitarisation processes. I was dependent on people inviting me and, if possible, accompanying me. As a result, I also depended on their assessment of which twarab they considered ‘presentable’. I was mostly invited to ‘special twarabs’ like the one organised to welcome a newly arrived twarab artist. Instead, ‘normal’ twarabs were and are those organised as fundraising events. I hence got to know the common way of organising twarab events through its exceptions, the ‘special’ twarabs not merely organised for fundraising purposes. Despite their public character, the events I attended were community-­ related spaces to which I was invited. This posed different ethical questions linked to the risk of me re-objectifying self-representations through my presence and documenting role. For instance, while taking notes at a political event did not represent an ethical problem given the number of journalists present who also took notes, taking a seat in some corner during a cultural event created distance and was, from my point of view, problematic. Hence, to avoid this, I tried to actively take part in and engage with the event rather than taking notes from a distance. Being invited and accompanied by persons that see themselves as part of the community also helped. Furthermore, I dealt with these ethical questions by engaging closely with my own ­projections and images by writing up protocols (Breidenstein et al. 2013, 89). I constantly ref lected on the question of how intersecting power relations manifested themselves in the events, including my own positionalities. Moreover, being in regular dialogue with friends and colleagues who are members of the Comorian diaspora was crucial to me to ref lect on my experiences, observations and analyses. Data analysis In the coding process, I employed a combination of inductive and deductive coding (Glasze, Husseini, and Mose 2009, 269), using the software atlas.ti. In the first phase, I mainly focused on twarab and coded the material in the form of an open coding process (Charmaz 2006, 55). During this first coding process, I developed three analytical categories, which guided the second focused coding process (ibid., 57), namely ‘spaces of mobilisation’, ‘mobilisations of diaspora and/or community’ and ‘forms of subjectivation’. Each category (or code-group in atlas.ti) comprised different codes, representing

42  The Dispositif of Communitarisation

dispositif-analytical dimensions in terms of meanings, practices, institutions, spaces and subjectivations, which led in sum to 30 codes. Despite these three main categories, I also coded articulations of ‘institutions’, ‘social categories’ and ‘research relations’. The code-group ‘social categories’ contained 11 social categories which were the result of an inductive as well as a deductive process (Degele and Winker 2011, 79). The deductive categories were ethnicity/race, gender/sexuality, class and generation (ibid., 72ff.), whereas inductive categories were nationality, community mechanisms/age classes, locality, experiences of migration, religion and North-South relations. This double coding of the data was the result of my interest in the relevance of social categories within practices of mobilisation, performance, identity and space. In the analysis of mobilisation and subjectivation processes, it became evident that they were intrinsically related. On the one hand, mobilisations of Comorian communities promoted certain subject positionings. On the other hand, individual actors formed their identities during these mobilisation processes. In a similar vein, I tried to overcome the heuristic separation between cultural and political events. Although discourses overlapped in political and cultural events, ref lected for example in the continuous emphasis on countering criminalising discourses on Comorian communities, the separation between the cultural and the political domain was too pronounced in the material to not be acknowledged. Moreover, discourses and practices of culture were predominantly linked to discourses and practices of economy, as is for instance ref lected in the objective of twarab concerts to fundraise. As a result of the outlined debates on dispositifs, biopolitics and diaspora, and the results of my empirical analysis, I focus on three dimensions of the dispositif of communitarisation: the spaces of communitarisation (see ­Chapter 4), the cultural markets of communitarisation (see Chapters 5 and 6) and the politics of communitarisation (see Chapter 7). Spaces play an important role in the context of diaspora since they are related to questions of ‘home’ and ‘origin’, as well as in the context of biopolitics, as population groups are ascribed or ascribe themselves to specific spaces. The focus on cultural markets ref lects the important dimension of culture as a space for community identity in the context of diaspora, whereas its relationship with economic practices points to the embeddedness of culture in economic processes as well as the role of the economy and culture as important biopolitical spheres. Finally, the dimension of politics represents the ‘classic’ sphere of biopolitics in terms of state practices, but also political mobilisations of diasporic communities. The question that hence guides my analysis is how spaces, cultural markets and politics are governed through communitarisation processes, that is, how spaces, cultural markets and politics are used by Comorian communities; and, conversely, how communities are governed through spaces, cultural markets and politics, that is, how Comorian communities are ascribed to specific spaces and cultural practices, addressed by specific policies and mobilised through specific forms of politics (Figure 2.1).

The Dispositif of Communitarisation  43 Context ‘Postcolonial France’

Biopolitics

‘urgencies’ (Code ‘objectives of event organisers’)

Dispositif of communitarisation

Spaces of communitarisation

Codes of mobilisationscode group or subjectivation-code group, also coded with locality-code Code-group ‘spaces of mobilisations’

Cultural markets of communitarisation

Document-group ‘cultural events’

Code-group ‘mobilisations of Comorian communities’

Politics of communitarisation

Document-group ‘political events’

Code-group ‘forms of subjectivation’

Code-Group ‘social categories’, focus on ethnicity/race, generation, gender/sexuality, class, locality, community mechanisms/age classes

Figure 2.1  Code-groups and Analytical Dimensions. Source: Figure by the author.

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46  The Dispositif of Communitarisation Dhawan, Nikita. 2013. ‘Diaspora’. In Gender: The Key Concepts, edited by Mary Evans and Carolyn Williams, 48–54. Abingdon, Oxon; New York: Routledge. Diaz-Bone, Rainer. 2006. ‘Developing Foucault’s Discourse Analytical Methodology’. Forum: Qualitative Sozialforschung/Forum: Qualitative Social Research 7(1): 48 para. https://doi.org/10.17169/fqs-7.1.71. Direche-Slimani, Karina, and Fabienne Le Houérou. 2002. Les Comoriens à Marseille: d’une Mémoire à l’autre. Paris: Editions Autrement. Dorlin, Elsa, ed. 2009. Sexe, Race, Classe: pour une épistémologie de la domination. Paris: Presses universitaires de France. Dreyfuß, Hubert L., and Paul Rabinow. 1982. Michel Foucault : Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. With an Afterword by Michel Foucault. New York; London; Toronto; Sydney; Tokyo: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Englert, Birgit. 2016. ‘Popular and Mobile: Ref lections on Using YouTube as an Archive from an African Studies Perspective’. Stichproben - Wiener Zeitschrift für kritische Afrikastudien/Vienna Journal of African Studies, 16 (31): 27–56. doi:10.25365/ PHAIDRA.265_02. Fassin, Didier. 2009. ‘Another Politics of Life Is Possible’. Theory, Culture & Society 26 (5): 44–60. doi:10.1177/0263276409106349. Fassin, Didier, and Eric Fassin. 2009. ‘Introduction. À l’ombre des émeutes’. In De la question sociale à la question raciale? Représenter la société française, edited by Didier Fassin and Eric Fassin, 14–24. Paris: Découverte. Flick, Uwe. 2011. ‘Das episodische Interview’. In Empirische Forschung und soziale Arbeit: ein Studienbuch, edited by Gertrud Oelerich, 273–280. Wiesbaden: VS, Verl. für Sozialwiss. Foucault, Michel. 1971. The Order of Things: An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. New York: Pantheon Books. Foucault, Michel. 1978. Dispositive der Macht: über Sexualität, Wissen und Wahrheit. Berlin: Merve Verl. Foucault, Michel. 1980a. The History of Sexuality, Volume I: An Introduction. New York: Vintage Books. Foucault, Michel. 1980b. Power/Knowledge: Selected Interviews and Other Writings, 1972-1977. Edited by Colin Gordon. New York: Pantheon Books. Foucault, Michel. 1982. ‘The Subject and Power’. In Michel Foucault : Beyond Structuralism and Hermeneutics. With an Afterword by Michel Foucault, by Hubert L. Dreyfuß and Paul Rabinow, 208–226. London; Toronto; Sydney; Tokyo: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Foucault, Michel. 2003. Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1975-76. Edited by Mauro Bertani, Alessandro Fontana, and François Ewald. New York: Picador. Foucault, Michel. 2005. Analytik Der Macht. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Foucault, Michel. 2007. Security, Territory, Population: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1977-78. Edited by Michel Senellart. Translated by Graham Burchell. Basingstoke ; New York: Palgrave Macmillan . Foucault, Michel. 2008. The Birth of Biopolitics: Lectures at the Collège de France, 1978-79. Edited by Michel Senellart. Basingstoke, England; New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Gilroy, Paul. 1993. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Glasze, Georg, Shadia Husseini, and Jörg Mose. 2009. ‘Kodierende Verfahren in der Diskursforschung’. In Handbuch Diskurs und Raum: Theorien und Methoden für die

The Dispositif of Communitarisation  47 Humangeographie sowie die sozial- und kulturwissenschaftliche Raumforschung, edited by Georg Glasze and Annika Mattissek, 293–314. Bielefeld: Transcript. Glick Schiller, Nina. 2013. ‘The Transnational Migration Paradigm: Global ­Perspectives on Migration Research’. In Migration and Organized Civil Society: Rethinking National Policy, edited by Dirk Halm and Zeynep Sezgin. New York and London: Routledge, 25–43. doi:10.4324/9780203103821. Glissant, Édouard. 2011. ‘Creolisation and the Americas’. Caribbean Quarterly 57 (1): 11–20. Guénif-Souilamas, Nacira, ed. 2006a. ‘Introduction : La république artistocratique et la nouvelle société de cour’. In La République mise à nu par son immigration, edited by Nacira Guénif-Souilamas, 7–61. Paris: La fabrique éditions. Guénif-Souilamas, Nacira. 2006b. ‘The Other French Exception: Virtuous Racism and the War of the Sexes in Postcolonial France’. French Politics, Culture & Society 24 (3): 23–41. Guénif-Souilamas, Nacira, ed. 2006c. La République mise à nu par son immigration. Paris: La fabrique éditions. Gutiérrez Rodríguez, Encarnación. 2001. ‘Grenzen der Performativität: Zur konstitutiven Verschränkung von Ethnizität, Geschlecht, Sexualität und Klasse’. In Kultur- Analysen: Interventionen, edited by Dirk Baecker and Jörg Huber, 55–75. Zürich, Wien; New York: Voldemeer; Springer. Gutiérrez Rodríguez, Encarnación, and Shirley Anne Tate, eds. 2015. Creolizing Europe: Legacies and Transformations. Migration and Identities. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Hall, Stuart. 1990. ‘Cultural Identity and Diaspora’. In Identity: Community, Culture, Difference, edited by Jonathan Rutherford, 222–237. London: Lawrence & Wishart. Hall, Stuart. 1992. ‘The West and the Rest: Discourse and Power’. In Formations of Modernity, edited by Stuart Hall and Bram Gieben, Reprinted, 275–320. Cambridge: Polity Press. Hall, Stuart. 1996. ‘New Ethnicities’. In Stuart Hall: Critical Dialogues in Cultural Studies, edited by Stuart Hall, David Morley, and Kuan-Hsing Chen, 441–449. London; New York: Routledge. Hall, Stuart. 1998. ‘Notes on Deconstructing the Popular’. In An Introduction to Cultural Theory and Popular Culture, edited by John Storey, 2nd ed., 442–453. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Hall, Stuart. 2004. ‘What Is This “Black” in Black Popular Culture’. In The Black Studies Reader, edited by Jacqueline Bobo, Cynthia Hudley, and Claudine Michel, 255–264. New York: Routledge. Hall, Stuart, and Tony Jefferson, eds. 2006. Resistance through Rituals: Youth­ Subcultures in Post-War Britain. 2nd ed., Rev. and expanded ed. London; New York: Routledge. Haritaworn, Jin. 2012. The Biopolitics of Mixing: Thai Multiracialities and Haunted ­Ascendancies. Farnham; Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Jäger, Siegfried. 2001. ‘Diskurs und Wissen. Theoretische und methodische Aspekte einer kritischen Diskurs- und Dispositivanalyse’. In Handbuch Sozialwissenschaftliche Diskursanalyse: Band I: Theorien und Methoden, edited by Reiner Keller, Andreas Hirseland, Werner Schneider, and Willy Viehöver, 81–112. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. doi:10.1007/978-3-322-99906-1. Keller, Reiner. 2005. Wissenssoziologische Diskursanalyse: Grundlegung eines Forschungsprogramms. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften.

48  The Dispositif of Communitarisation Keown, Michelle, David Murphy, and James Procter. 2009. ‘Introduction: Theorizing Postcolonial Diasporas’. In Comparing Postcolonial Diasporas, edited by Michelle Keown, David Murphy, and James Procter, 1–15. London: Palgrave Macmillan UK. doi:10.1057/9780230232785_1. King, Russell, Anastasia Christou, and Peggy Levitt, eds. 2014. Links to the Diasporic Homeland: Second Generation and Ancestral ‘Return’ Mobilities. London: Routledge. Kron, Stefanie, and Birgit Zur Nieden. 2013. ‘Thinking Beyond the Categories: On ­ ender the Diasporisation of Gender Studies’. Querelles. Yearbook for Women’s and G Studies, January. Vol. 16 ‘Multidirektionale Transfers. Internationalität in der Geschlechterforschung’. doi:10.15461/1. Kubik, Jan. 2009. ‘Ethnography of Politics: Foundations, Applications, Prospects’. In Political Ethnography: What Immersion Contributes to the Study of Power, edited by Edward Schatz, 25–53. Chicago, IL; London: The University of Chicago Press. Lapeyronnie, Didier. 2005. ‘La banlieue comme théâtre colonial, ou la fracture ­coloniale dans les quartiers’. In La fracture coloniale. la société française au prisme de l’héritage colonial, edited by Pascal Blanchard, Nicolas Bancel, and Sandrine ­Lemaire, 209–218. Paris: La Découverte. Legg, Stephen. 2005. ‘Foucault’s Population Geographies: Classifications, Biopolitics and Governmental Spaces’. Population, Space and Place 11 (3): 137–156. doi:10.1002/ psp.357. Mbembe, Achille. 2001. On the Postcolony. Berkeley: University of California Press. McClintock, Anne. 1995. Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest. New York: Routledge. Mendjeli, Rachid, and Yves Raibaud. 2008. ‘Politique de la ville et construction de nouvelles images ethniques: peut-on parler de postcolonialisme ?’ Volume !, 6 (1–2): 81–93. doi:10.4000/volume.259. Miles, Robert. 2002. Racism. Reprint. Key Ideas. London: Routledge. Mitchell, Katharyne. 1997. ‘Different Diasporas and the Hype of Hybridity’. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 15 (5): 533–553. doi:10.1068/d150533. Mohanty, Chandra T. 1997. ‘Under Western Eyes: Feminist Scholarship and Colonial Discourses’. In Dangerous Liaisons: Gender, Nation, and Postcolonial Perspectives, edited by Anne McClintock, Aamir Mufti, and Ella Shohat, 255–277. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Moore-Gilbert, B. J. 1998. Postcolonial Theory: Contexts, Practices, Politics. London; New York: Verso. Muñoz, José Esteban. 2006. ‘Feeling Brown, Feeling Down: Latina Affect, the Performativity of Race, and the Depressive Position’. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 31 (3): 675–688. doi:10.1086/499080. Nichols, Robert. 2012. ‘Empire and the Dispositif of Queerness’. Foucault Studies 14: 41–60. Oksala, Johanna. 2013. ‘Neoliberalism and Biopolitical Governmentality’. In Foucault, Biopolitics, and Governmentality, edited by JaKob Nilsson, 53–72. Södertörn Philosophical Studies 14. Huddinge: Södertörn Univ. Patton, Cindy, and Benigno Sánchez-Eppler, eds. 2000. Queer Diasporas. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Pfadenhauer, Michaela. 2005. ‘Auf gleicher Augenhöhe reden. Das Expertinterview – ein Gespräch zwischen Experte und Quasi-Experte’. In Das Experteninterview: Theorie, Methode, Anwendung, edited by Alexander Bogner, Beate Littig, and Wolfgang Menz, 2nd ed., 113–130. Wiesbaden: VS, Verl. für Sozialwiss.

The Dispositif of Communitarisation  49 Said, Edward W. 1979. Orientalism. New York: Vintage Books. Sauer, Birgit. 2011. ‘Migration, Geschlecht und Ethnizität. Kritik integrations- und biopolitischer Zusammenhänge’. In Migration: Perspektivenwechsel und Bewusstseinswandel als Herausforderung für Stadt und Gesellschaft, edited by Bettina Gruber, ­49–63. Jahrbuch Friedenskultur 2011. Klagenfurt: Drava-Verl. Schatz, Edward, ed. 2009. Political Ethnography: What Immersion Contributes to the Study of Power. Chicago, IL; London: The University of Chicago Press. Schwartz-Shea, Peregrina, and Dvora Yanow. 2009. ‘Reading and Writing as Method’. In Organizational Ethnography: Studying the Complexities of Everyday Life, edited by Sierk Ybema, 56–82. Los Angeles, CA; London: SAGE. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty. 1999. A Critique of Postcolonial Reason: Toward a History of the Vanishing Present. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Stoler, Ann Laura. 1995. Race and the Education of Desire: Foucault’s History of Sexuality and the Colonial Order of Things. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Strüver, Anke, and Claudia Wucherpfennig. 2009. ‘Performativität’. In Handbuch Diskurs und Raum: Theorien und Methoden für die Humangeographie sowie die ­sozial- und kulturwissenschaftliche Raumforschung, edited by Georg Glasze and Annika M ­ attissek, 107–128. Bielefeld: Transcript. Tate, Shirley A. 2005. Black Skins, Black Masks: Hybridity, Dialogism, Performativity. Aldershot, Hants, England; Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Tölölyan, Khachig. 2007. ‘The Contemporary Discourse of Diaspora Studies’. ­Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 27 (3): 647–655. Wacquant, Loïc. 2008. Urban Outcasts: A Comparative Sociology of Advanced Marginality. Reprinted. Cambridge: Polity Press. Walker, Iain. 2010. Becoming the Other, Being Oneself: Constructing Identities in a ­Connected World. Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars. Werbner, Pnina. 2002. ‘The Place Which Is Diaspora: Citizenship, Religion and Gender in the Making of Chaordic Transnationalism’. Journal of Ethnic and ­Migration Studies 28 (1): 119–133. doi:10.1080/13691830120103967. Wrana, Daniel, and Antje Langer. 2007. ‘On the Edge of Discourse. Beyond the ­Differentiation of Discursive and Non-discursive Practices’. Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung/Forum: Qualitative Social Research 8 (2), art. 20. Retrieved 10 March 2018 from, http://www.qualitative-research.net/index.php/fqs/article/view/253/557.

Notes 1 Foucault introduces biopolitics in the History of Sexuality Vol. I (1980a) and the lecture series Society Must Be Defended (2003) from 1975 to 1976 at the Collège de France and elaborates further on this in two lecture series held at the Collège de France: Security, Territory, Population (2007, held 1978) and The Birth of Biopolitics (2008, held 1979). 2 With the concept of the dispositif, Foucault distances himself from the Althusserian notion of ‘state apparatuses’, emphasising a conceptualisation of power as a larger network of elements in which the State is only one actor among others. Such a distancing can be observed when Foucault uses ‘apparatus’ when referring to State practices and institutions (Bussolini 2010, 93). 3 Intersectional analyses were (mainly) developed in the context of Black F ­ eminism in the US context in order to conceptualise the relationship between gendered, sexualised, racialised, and classed relations (see Collins 2000; Combahee River Collective 1981; for the French context, see e.g. Dorlin 2009). The term

50  The Dispositif of Communitarisation intersectionality was coined by the Afro-American lawyer Kimberlé Crenshaw, who developed the concept to describe the simultaneous discrimination of Black women in the justice system along gendered and racialised relations (Crenshaw 1991a, 1991b). 4 To Brah (1996, 201), the notion of a politics of location then underlines that it is not the diasporic positionality itself that results in a more ‘privileged’ insight into power relations; rather, contesting dominant power relations is always a question of politics. 5 McClintock (1995, 32) analyses what she refers to as a “cult of domesticity”, linking the domestication of bourgeois white women in the metropole to the domestication of colonised subjects. 6 I use the term ‘community-related’ instead of ‘community-based’, as it ref lects my understanding of the relation between specific cultural and political practices and discourses and practices of community as performative. Instead, ­‘community-based’ implies a notion of a ‘given’ community, which shows certain practices. 7 The ungendered notion of Bhabha’s concept of mimicry is even more surprising, as it was inspired by Irigaray’s concept of gender mimicry, in which she interprets the performance of heterosexuality among women as a survival strategy (Castro Varela and Dhawan 2015, 244, 274, 288f.). 8 As Pfadenhauer (2005, 123) emphasises, ‘expert’ is neither to be equated with ‘professional’, nor should ‘expert knowledge’ be equated with canonised special knowledge. Rather, as she notes, who counts as an expert in a certain context depends on the research interest as well as on context-specific power relations (ibid., 124). 9 Episodic interviews combine narrative and structural elements, focusing on the dimensions of knowledge and experiences from the point of view of the interviewees (Flick 2011, 278). 10 Community-related events like twarab concerts are usually filmed and ­published on YouTube. I met various people who earned their income by filming ­community-related events, especially marriages. The video of the event is usually burned to a DVD and handed over to the event organisers. However, the simple fact that a YouTube video is publicly accessible does not mean that it can be analysed by anyone (referred to in Englert 2016, 41f.). Rather, it became evident that the videos, whose function, among other things, was to let people who could not physically be (t)here participate in these events, represented a translocal practice. It was part of a diasporic community space. I hence only felt entitled to draw on videos of twarab events which I attended as a source to complete my documentation on what was said and performed during an event.

3 Ref lections on Doing Ethnography … from a (Critical) White Perspective

Postcolonial power relations shaped my research process from the very beginning. As much as I aimed at critically ref lecting on what I was doing, the research process was shaped by the constant unease at reproducing colonial power relations where a white researcher studied Black subjects and communities. I, similarly, was a white, female PhD student from the University of Vienna doing research on the performativity of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille. In line with critical whiteness studies, I aim at ref lecting on the various mechanisms of whiteness which shaped my research and the question of how researching and writing on postcolonial diaspora from a white positionality became an (im)possible project for me. Given my self-understanding as an activist, I thought about connecting my research and activist practices as a possibility to critically engage with the power relations shaping the research context. At the beginning of the research, I hence talked at length with people I met about how I could get involved in the activities they were involved in, be they social, cultural or political. While doing so, I encountered various challenges: First, especially people engaged in political activities pursued political directions that I did not completely agree with. Second, given the marginalised positionalities of many people I met during my research, I quickly moved into the position of being a white person wanting to ‘help’. Third, I often got the feeling that my wish to get involved in roles other than my role as researcher often produced feelings of being overwhelmed by the broad range of demands I had towards people I encountered. And, finally, I could not shake the feeling that I aimed at getting involved in another way to legitimate what I was doing, namely researching postcolonial diaspora from a white perspective. At the same time, I got involved in different activist spaces in Marseille, first in the domain of self-organisation around issues on precarity in the cultural domain and later within queer-feminist spaces. In the course of getting involved in activist spaces, I soon experienced the power of whiteness that shaped the (radical-)leftist spaces I had access to. However, there were also political events where my research context and my activist context met. In moments where my different roles overlapped, I was confronted with the question of how to deal with such overlaps. For people who knew me as an

DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665-3

52  Reflections on Doing Ethnography

activist as well as a researcher, it was no longer clear whether I was participating as an activist or whether the experiences they shared with me would become part of the knowledge production for my dissertation (for a discussion on the relationship between friendship and research, see Beech et al. 2009). I was hence driven by a wish of an apparent ‘coherence’ between my activist and academic practice, which was very much complicated during the research. Especially in interviews with twarab artists, I felt some kind of ‘conf lict of interest’. The artists’ main interest was talking about their music, while I was interested in their positionalities as artists in Marseille. To the artists, the interview was rather considered as a means of promotion, which I as a researcher could not fulfil. In this regard, the cooperation with Mounir Hamada Hamza and Andrés Carvajal in the course of a documentary project Histoires de twarab à Marseille (2016) on twarab artists presented a possibility to give artists more space for self-representation. Moreover, we tried to use the documentary as a means to create spaces for exchange on the precarious situation of artists and means of organisation and mobilisation (for an in-depth ref lection on this collaborative process see Fritsch and Hamada Hamza 2021). This ref lection is about the question what researching Comorian diaspora from a (critical) white positionality meant to people I met and what it meant to me. Inspired by Kamala Visweswaran’s (2008 [1994]) book Fictions of Feminist Ethnography, I engaged with this question through fictionalised scenes. Throughout the research process, I started to document situations –­ encounters which marked a shift in research, failures or situations which ref lected a negotiation of power relations – which I considered important in my research. To Visweswaran (2008, 99f ), the notion of ‘failure’ should not remain a methodological issue, but also be an epistemological and representational one. The question of failure then “takes us homeward rather than away” (ibid., 99), as it demands accountability in terms of the situatedness of one’s knowledge (production). Instead of understanding failures as a ‘lack of access’, using moments of failure in a productive way demands oneself as a researcher to ref lect on why a specific encounter or interview fails and how it ref lects the power relations at work. Following Visweswaran’s approach towards research through fiction, I wrote down what had been said and done in these situations; yet, the scenes I wrote down were again ‘staged’. In other words, the scenes should not be understood as one-to-one accounts of what had been said or done, but rather ‘hybrids’ informed by interviews, observation protocols or my own memories. I changed all names, except my own, and use the first-person pronoun ‘I’ to emphasise the auto-ethnographic nature of the account. Given the research context, all interviews or events were held in French and are presented here only in the English translation. In the course of this process, I wrote a broad range of scenes, of which I will present three, as I consider them central with respect to the intersectional power relations shaping the research process. The following scenes hence present a kind of analysis in terms of being a ref lection on research relations. Yet, given their fictionalised character, the scenes are not part of the analysis chapters.

Reflections on Doing Ethnography  53

This kind of performative response to research on the performativity of postcolonial diaspora was an important methodological tool for confronting myself with others’ and my own positionalities as well as how both of these shaped the research. By staging research encounters, I tried and try “to be answerable for what I have learned to see, and for what I have learned to do” (Visweswaran 2008, 48). Regarding my own positionalities, I experienced whiteness as an over-determined social category. Drawing on Sara Ahmed’s (2004, para. 49) wording, whiteness, like any other effect of racism and ­racialised embodiment, has been ‘sticking’ to my research. Throughout this chapter, I shall show that whiteness did not ‘disappear’ despite personal friendships and ongoing exchanges but was an ongoing social positionality that sometimes disappeared in certain contexts and reappeared in others. ­Following Eggers et al. (2018, 11 ff.), I understand whiteness as an analytical category that comprises discourses and practices of racialisation, but also interacts with other social categories of difference, such as gender, sexuality, dis-/ability, age or class.1 In the field of critical whiteness studies, Ina Kerner (2013, 285) addresses the risk of reproducing racialising categories when working with them. Putting a focus on racialisation practices is further complicated in the context of France where genealogies of a seemingly ‘race-neutral’ Republicanism have focused on the ‘social question’ rather than on questions of ‘race’ (Blanchard, Bancel, and Lemaire 2005; Chapman and Frader 2004, 2 ff.), both in academic as well as activist practices. Yet, especially on the part of non-white scholars and activists in France, the role of race as analytical and political category has been emphasised (see e.g. Keaton, Sharpley-Whiting, and Stovall 2012; Thompson 2020). In addition to, or, rather, in relation with articulations of race in France, a focus on whiteness also addresses the question of postcolonial power ­relations shaping ethnographic research on and with non-white subjects carried out by white scholars (see Kilomba 2008; Smith 2012). In this respect, I struggle(d) with the problematic of addressing mechanisms of whiteness which constantly shaped this research without turning a research on postcolonial diaspora into a research on (my) whiteness. So, the question which accompanied me throughout my research and which still continues to trouble me is how to de-centre whiteness within research on postcolonial diaspora without disguising its powerful effects in shaping research encounters? Jacobs and Weicker (2011, 214) describe this problematic in Critical Whiteness ­approaches in terms of a tendency to re-instrumentalise the Other in order to deconstruct the Self. The following scenes are an attempt to engage with these questions.

Marking whiteness It is the beginning of my research. I have gotten into contact with a student ­association set up by and for students from the Comoros who came or will come to France for their studies. I contacted one of the members of the association. He has

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suggested that I should meet with someone he considers important with respect to my research. He introduces the respective person as a social worker who has been accompanying the student association in their activities. He suggests that I should arrange a meeting with her. After talking to the person in question, he explains that she prefers that we come to her home. In the following scene, I partly draw on discussions which took place after the official interview. I am aware of the ethical problematics of drawing on a discussion that has not been officially part of the interview. Especially in ethnographic research, the role of informal discussions is very common, which does not downplay the problematics of ethical questions in how to use information shared in informal discussions (Stepanik 2021, 66). I have decided to analyse this research encounter, as it indicates a specific power relation at work, namely that the researcher’s positionalities were not part of the formal interview and were only discussed afterwards. The following scene is thus based on notes of the discussion and, hence, needs to be read as mediated through my memory and positionalities. So let me continue with the story: We are sitting in the living room of the social worker. There are two men and two women in the room. I am one of the two women, the other is a woman in her mid-thirties. The two men are in their mid-twenties. ONE OF THE MEN:  Hello, Nouriati. NOURIATI:  Hello Abdallah, nice to see you, it has been a long time. ABDALLAH:  Oh yeah, I am quite busy at the moment with my studies.

So let me introduce you to Katharina. I:  Hello, nice to meet you and thanks so much for having me here. It was Abdallah who told me that I should meet you, as you would be able to give me important insights regarding my research. NOURIATI:  Yes, I have known these guys for a long time. I have accompanied them in their efforts to set up an association for Comorian students. When they told me that there was an Austrian student who was interested in the Comorian community, and especially the role of women, I became curious. Honestly, if you were a French student, I wouldn’t have talked to you. I remember that I was once asked by a female student from Aix-en-Provence to participate in a study on the Comorian community and I refused, as I considered some of the questions in the questionnaire as insensitive. But, when I heard that it was an Austrian, I was so surprised that I told myself that I wanted to know how an Austrian student ends up doing a research on Comorian women in Marseille. So tell me why you do this research? I:  This is a very good question that I also ask myself a lot. If I am honest, it was partly a coincidence; partly it was linked to previous research that I have undertaken. I have written my Diploma thesis on beauty practices among middle- and lower-class women in Dar es Salaam. After finishing

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my studies, I learned that a person I knew a bit was about to set up a research project on popular cultural practices among Comorian communities in Marseille. She invited me to join the project and that is how I ended up doing this research. NOURIATI:  Ok. As you might have realised, there is a huge number of ­Comorian associations in Marseille and it is in the domain of these associations that women have an important role. So, there are festivities every weekend. “But in fact they won’t show you what you want to see, because you will only see the event. But in fact, behind every event there is an objective, there is an aim, like the construction of a school for example. You understand what I want to say? But you, when you see this event, you will see women who wear colourful clothes and who dance, so you will say ‘they have fun’, but no. Yes, it’s true, we also have fun but there is an actual objective behind all these activities, such as the construction of a school, a hospital, roads, actually all that. But this, you won’t see.” (Interview, social worker, 13 October 2013) I read this scene as ref lecting the workings of whiteness. It shows how I am being positioned by the respective social worker, who in the interview before has just been positioned as a ‘Comorian woman’. My research interest is addressed as some kind of surprise, given the apparent lack of connection between the place I am ascribed to, Austria, and my research context, which is referred to as the ‘Comorian community in Marseille’. In this respect, the social worker refers to nationality as the trigger that is said to have motivated her to talk to me. While a French student, as she claims, would have represented ongoing colonial relations between researcher and researched, my positionality as Austrian just appears as a surprise. Whilst this difference in nationality has let her talk to me, in the last part of the scene she challenges expectations of a possible woman-to-woman solidarity or even the possibility that I could understand the role of women in events organised by Franco-­ Comorian associations. I read the repeated use of the verb ‘see’ as challenging the white gaze, while also situating it within a specific position that is shaped by the possibilities of seeing certain realities and failing to see others. The ref lections put forward by the social worker challenge a culturalist ethnographic gaze – reducing women participating in cultural events to their ‘culture’ – while emphasising the different objectives pursued by Franco-­ Comorian associations (see Chapter 5). In a classic ethnographic sense, one could argue that what is needed is to get ‘backstage’ as a researcher. However, the conversation also implies the problematics of such a (white) wish to ‘get behind the scenes’, especially in a context of postcolonial power relations. In my response to the question why I decided to do the respective research, mechanisms of whiteness can be observed. With Grada Kilomba (2008, 22), who uses Gilroy’s schema of stages of dealing with racism among people privileged by racism – namely “denial/guilt/shame/recognition/­reparation” – one might say that my response ref lects feeling of guilt and shame, expressed by

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the sentence “this is a very good question that I also always ask myself ”. My further explanation can be understood as “intellectualization or rationalization” (ibid.; emphasis in original), as I am trying to legitimate my research with previous research done in Tanzania. However, it is exactly this rationalisation that indicates the power of the white gaze working through homogenisation, as I quickly jump to conclusions on the Comoros given my experiences in Tanzania. However, my own living experiences in Tanzania were also ­often received positively and usually accompanied by the question of whether I knew Zanzibar, the insular parts of Tanzania and which, due to the history of the Omani Empire in this region, share historical relations with the ­Comoros, as discussed in more detail in Chapter 5. Consequently, whilst the decision to become part of the research project on the Comorian diaspora in Marseille was part of a white privilege of being in the position to ­decide where to do research and on whom, my knowledge of Swahili and my ­experience of having lived in Tanzania also facilitated moments that put me in relation with people I met. According to Visweswaran (2008, 113), a decolonisation of ethnography might be pursued by turning to homework instead of fieldwork. With the notion of ‘homework’, she emphasises a critical ref lection on the situatedness of researchers in the social but also epistemological contexts in which they ‘live’ and which shape their perspectives on ‘other’ realities (ibid., 101ff ). At the beginning of my research in Marseille, I realised that I had ignored a central part of my homework, which I had not considered important, and which had partly not been accessible to me when I was in Vienna. This homework comprised all the research that has been done on Comorian communities in Marseille during the last 15 years. In other words, I did not consider myself as part of this research community, which I had quickly discounted as mainly ‘uncritical white anthropologists’. Postcolonial power relations can be observed in this body of work, starting in the 1990s, as the Comorian diaspora is framed as a group to be ‘discovered’ by the academia, ref lected in ­references to migration from the Comoros as “une immigration m ­ éconnue” (“an ­unknown immigration”; Blanchy 1998) or to migratory trajectories as “émigration silencieuse” (“silent emigration”; Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002, 14). In the face of this body of work, I positioned myself as a ‘critical white political scientist’, whose work had nothing to do with anthropological ‘community studies’. A classical declaration of whiteness, as Ahmed (2004) would say, in the sense of declaring oneself as a ‘critical white scholar’ while nevertheless continuing with white research practices. It is this long-standing colonial continuity of predominantly white research on Comorian communities in Marseille that might have informed the social worker’s unease in meeting me, another white researcher doing research on the ‘Comorian community’, to which she has constantly been ascribed. As I read through the body of work on Comorian communities, it became apparent to me that it was often the same people I had encountered or who were presented to me as representatives of the ‘Comorian community’. This

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experience corresponds with Barbey’s (2008, 13) observation that the Comorian diaspora in Marseille ‘knows’ researchers. In a ‘kitchen story’ between my colleague Hamada Hamza and myself, he addresses the role ascribed to him as an artist who ‘knows’ how to deal with a white researcher. 2 We met in the office of a Franco-Comorian association at the very beginning of my research. To me, his presence in the office when I first visited the association seemed a ‘coincidence’. Yet, as we were discussing this first encounter, ­Hamada Hamza explained that he was about to leave when he was asked by others in the room whether he could not stay as a ‘mzungu’ – a Shingazidja word to refer to ‘white people’ – was about to come. As he then explains further, he was supposed to know how to ‘handle’ a mzungu given that he was an artist. Apparent coincidental research encounters were thus far from being random encounters; rather, they were shaped by the long-standing knowledge of members of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille on how to engage with (white) researchers. My colleague Mounir Hamada Hamza was hence ascribed and also performed the role of a ‘cultural broker’ (de Jong 2016), which I discuss in more detail in chapters 6 and 7 with regard to Franco-Comorian artists and ­politicians as part of ethnicised (self-)governing processes in the context of postcolonial France. Such mediated encounters facilitate specific exchanges, whilst they prevent others. In a dialogue where we ref lect on our cooperation (Fritsch and Hamada Hamza 2021, 56), Hamada Hamza explains that getting involved with our research project was also a possibility for him to critically engage with the situation of Comorian artists in France. Very honestly and a bit cynically, he challenges ascriptions towards him as a ‘research assistant’, while he also acknowledges the benefits of our research collaboration: You should not think at all that I joined the project to please you (laughs). Or so that you advance…I don’t care. In the meantime, I did want, though, that you advance with your research as it was really a research, which pleases me a lot. (ibid., translation K.F.) Mediated research encounters as those just described also resulted in the ­reproduction of existing power relations in the context of the Comorian ­d iaspora. Attempts from my side to get in contact with the federation of the notables, the customary elite, ‘failed’ after various attempts. The official excuse was ‘communication barriers’, as most of its members only spoke Shingazidja, which I did not speak. While the question of communication certainly was an important aspect, me not getting the possibility to talk to the customary elite was part of a postcolonial context, where I was presented with ‘Western’ forms of representation – that is cultural associations or politicians, while non-Western forms were not considered important (to me). My engagement with the notabilité thus happened indirectly, as some members were usually at events where I was. This non-engagement in a direct manner is even more

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interesting, given the predominance of customary power ­relations in the context of the Comorian diaspora, as discussed in more detail in Chapter 5.

In-between Othering The second scene – based on notes of me participating at a madjlisse, a ­religious event regularly organised in the context of Franco-Comorian associations as part of fundraising events (see Chapter 5) – engages with the question of Othering (Kuria 2015, 56), in the sense of ascribing ethnicised labels to people I met and to me as a researcher. I refer to both practices as Othering, yet I also consider them as situated at different angles in the context of power relations; it is hence always important to ask who others whom, from which positionality and with which purpose. One sees a long boulevard. On one side, there are some trees, on the other side, there are large buildings that look like warehouses. For those who know Marseille, they will recognise that the scene is set in Bougainville. It is the metro station of the underground line 2 and main bus station for buses to head to the Northern districts characterised by social housing areas. In front of one of the buildings, there is a group of men, identifiable as Comorian since they wear clothes typical on the Comoros – in particular a cap with Arabic stitches on it, called a kofia – and Muslim clothing, represented by a long white gown. They are welcoming other people that are arriving. I approach them. I:  Hello,

I am a student who is interested in the activities of Comorian associations in Marseille. Mister Bakari has invited me to this madjlisse. A MAN STANDING OUTSIDE:  Oh, welcome. He is inside arranging everything to get started. Come in and I will tell him that you are here. The man and I go into the building. We pass a large room with a scene where preparations are being made. Men are arranging chairs and instruments; sometimes one hears an instrument that is being tuned. We meet Mister Bakari who is occupied with technical stuff. He tells me to wait a bit and I sit on a chair. There are not many people here yet. After some time, Mister Bakari asks me in into a small office. I:  Hello, thanks again for inviting me to this event. MR BAKARI:  It’s our pleasure. The madjlisse will start

soon. As you can see, there is a special room for women. Normally, the religious ceremony is only for men, but we have installed a screening for the women in a separate room so that they can be part of it. I will find you a person who can explain to you what is going on. I am introduced to a woman my age.

MR BAKARI:  Hello

Amina. This is Katharina, a student who does research on Comorian culture in Marseille. As she doesn’t know anybody here, could you look after her a bit?

Reflections on Doing Ethnography  59 AMINA:  Of

course. Just sit next to us.

I sit down next to Amina. We are in a room full of women of different ages. All women are veiled. Some women are veiled according to Muslim norms, wearing a veil and a costume covering most parts of the body. Some cover their head with a Comorian type of shawl, mostly coloured and thrown over the head in a loose way. I am the only white woman and the only one who is not veiled. I:  So, do you often go to such events? AMINA:  No, actually not. I am here, because

this madjlisse is taking place in order to collect money to build a mosque in my village of origin on the Comoros. During the whole time that we are sitting in the room and looking at the screening, women are entering the room. When they enter, they swing an envelope in the air and put it into a box.

You see, when the women enter, they put an envelope into a box. In this envelope, there is money for the construction of the mosque.

AMINA: 

The event comes to an end. Amina and I stand up and take a glance into men’s room. (turning herself towards me):  As we normally do not go to such events, we do not know much about it. I:  So, the whole event is as strange to you as it is to me? AMINA (with a smile on her face):  Exactly. (Ethnographic protocol, madjlisse, 20 October 2013) AMINA

I will start with the role ascribed to me as a researcher, namely of being a researcher interested in Comorian culture. As much as I explained that I was also interested in questions of political representation and mobilisations of Comorian communities in Marseille, the usual responses referred to my interest in Comorian culture. In this regard, religious events were rather complicated for me to attend. I tried to get in touch with Qu’ran schools which represent important community spaces (Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002, 103 ff.), but realised very fast that the predominance of anti-Muslim racism in France and beyond resulted in a reasonable mistrust towards me. However, the invitation to a madjlisse shows the intersection of religious and cultural practices in the context of the Comorian diaspora. By inviting me, I was thus presented with a specific ethnicised image of the Comorian community, namely as a Muslim community which also acknowledges the important role of women. Such a representation must be seen in the context of decades of gendered anti-Muslim discourse in France and Europe more generally, which have marked the female ‘veiled body’ as “the archetype of the alienated woman, unable to liberate herself from an oppressive patriarchal Muslim order” (Guénif-Souilamas 2006, 31). While the interactions ref lect the predominance of ethnicised performances directed towards me as a researcher – performances I also triggered

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since I asked for cultural events –, towards the end the scene criss-crosses Othering in terms of gendered perspectives and generation. Mr Bakari had suggested to Amina that she should accompany me during the event because she was more or less my age, as he explained to me. It is then literally between the room reserved for women and the one reserved for men that processes of ethnicised Othering are negotiated, as it becomes apparent that to Amina the event is also rather ‘strange’ because it is not an event she usually attends. Amina’s perspective offers a gendered and generational perspective on the event: On the Comoros, madjlisses are events reserved for men and ref lect the intersection of religious and gendered relations and spaces. The integration of women in the madjlisse festivities ref lects a partial negotiation of gendered spaces for economic purposes, as more funds are being collected by the means of also mobilising women (Blanchy 2011, 285). In this regard, Amina’s framing of the event as not ‘so familiar’ offers a gendered perspective, which ref lects the connotation of the madjlisse as a male space. Her gendered experience does not correspond with mine, as I was being given the possibility to get to know both – the male and the female spaces – which indicates the intersection of racialised and gendered relations. It is rather the category of generation which created a space of exchange, as younger generations usually go to community-related events as part of family obligations – as discussed in more detail in Chapter 5. Though I was at least ten years older than Amina, it was the positionality as part of younger generations that opened up a space to ref lect on the intersectional power relations shaping the event. At this point, I want to ref lect on the conceptual and methodological challenges I encountered in conducting an ethnographic analysis of intersectional power relations, namely the problematics of reproducing the very categories one aims at deconstructing (Lorey 2008, 138 f.). I experienced this problematic primarily in the course of writing protocols, where I ascribed categories to people and practices. In this respect, the use of the plural form ‘communities’ as an analytical category allowed me to contest notions of a single ‘community’ and to analyse which other forms of community were also performed next to ethnicised community – gendered communities, communities of younger generations, etc. Related to this problematic of reproducing categories was the challenge of not ascribing communitarisation processes only to those who have been marked by them. Given that one’s own positionalities affect any type of data collection (see Littig 2005 on the role of gender), the encounters also functioned as a mirror of the communities I was being part, the academic community, the white community, the queer-feminist community, leftist communities. In the course of the analysing and writing process, however, I was confronted with the constant question of how to take account of the power relations between people I met and me without re-centring myself as a researcher and hence making the research ‘about me’.

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Diss-identifications One sees me sitting on a big terrace together with a man in his late-thirties, early forties. The sun is shining; there is a small breeze of wind. One feels the atmosphere of a Bobo artistic milieu. For those who know Marseille, they will recognise the place as the terrace of La Friche Belle de Mai, a well-known cultural space. MAN:  Nice to meet you, my name is Ibrahim. I:  Nice to meet you, Ibrahim. My name is Katharina. IBRAHIM:  It’s a pleasure to meet you and to know that

there is a researcher who is interested in our event. I:  Indeed, as I am interested in the presence of Comorian culture in Marseille, I find your project very interesting. Could you tell me a bit more about it? IBRAHIM:  Of course. We, that means we from RASMI, an association that assembles people who are originally from the region of Mitsamiouli on the Comoro islands, have decided to organise this event in order to make Comorian music known in Marseille. On the one hand, we have decided to organise a talent show in order to approach the younger generations, as it will be younger Franco-Comorians who will interpret well-known Comorian artists. On the other hand, the event also aims at attracting a non-Comorian audience, as it will take place in a well-known show venue, the Docks des Suds. So, actually we are still looking for a third member for the jury, which will give an opinion throughout the show. Two members of the jury will be two known Comorian artists, but as a third member we would like to have an external perspective. So, if you have any expertise in music and if you are interested …? I:  Oh, thanks I feel honoured, but I don’t feel like I am the right person for such a task, actually not at all. But, I would actually really like to get involved in any other way, if possible, because I think by getting involved I could get to know much more. Is there any other possibility to get engaged in the preparation of the event? IBRAHIM:  Of course. We have set up a volunteer group that takes over different tasks before and during the event. So, you can become part of this group. I will invite you to the next preparatory meeting. I:  Great, thanks. (Based on Interview Representative of RASMI-Paca, 25 October 2013) I will start the analysis of this scene by turning to how I have titled it, namely ‘Diss-identifications’. The title was meant as a wordplay on ‘disidentification’ and ‘dissertation’ in order to ref lect on my disidentifying with certain positionalities, while identifying with other ones. The play on dissertation should function as a reminder that no matter how I positioned myself during my research, these positionings were always part of me doing

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research for a dissertation and were hence always part of a privileged academic space. Moreover, the question of whether I wanted to become part of the jury shows how my interest in the show corresponded with the strategy of the organisational team to make Comorian culture known to a non-­ Comorian public. However, I disidentified with the positionality proposed to me as an ‘external observer’, which to me would have reproduced a ‘white gaze’. Instead, I asked whether I could join the preparatory activities of the volunteer group. At this point, the question of participation needs to be critically ref lected, as it was through participating in these activities that I gained more ‘access’ to the association’s activities. Participation was hence always over-determined by the wish to ‘gain more knowledge’. Yet, disidentifying with a certain white positionality – in this case by not taking on the role of ‘external observer’ – also resulted in other forms of critical engagement with the context of the research. The possibility to participate in the activities of the volunteer group made me grasp the interplay of different power relations at work in this event. Had I exclusively remained part of the public, my analysis would have been over-determined by the ethnicisation that shapes cultural production in this very setting. Accordingly, by participating in the activities of the volunteer group, the postcolonial dichotomy of a white spectator or researcher ‘consuming authentic Comorian culture’ was negotiated, as I myself became part of the production process of Comorian culture. However, I do not mean to evoke classic notions of ‘insider-outsider’ at this point, reproducing ideas of ‘really getting to know what happens backstage’. Rather, it is about the question of which roles one takes on as a researcher in the face of intersectional power relations and how these roles shape knowledge production. I end the ref lection on doing ethnography by engaging with the question of what ref lecting on one’s own positionalities does to the power relations shaping one’s research. As Fabian (1990, 766) has critically noted, only changing the style of writing does not change power relations; it also needs to correspond with a change in research and the production of academic knowledge. I am aware of the limits set to changing the power relations in which this research took place. Yet, the format of staging research encounters was an important ‘mirror’ which accompanied me throughout my research, and which kept reminding me of the manifold power relations shaping this research beyond a clear ‘Black-white’-divide, which was, of course, also always (t)here. Moreover, despite the ref lection process, what remains is the postcolonial ‘fact’ that I analyse social realities of Comorian communities, which were either told to me or which I observed. In the following chapters, I hence try to be accountable to the different voices and performances I encountered during my research, whilst also being accountable to the fact that writing about discourses and practices of Comorian diasporic communities in Marseille with my white fingers constantly fills me with unease; yet, this unease is important because it is a reminder that power relations shape not only research, but also writing processes.

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Bibliography Ahmed, Sara. 2004. ‘Declarations of Whiteness: The Non-performativity of ­A nti-racism’. Borderlands 3 (2), Retrieved 12 December 2015, from http://www. borderlands.net.au/vol3no2_2004/ahmed_declarations.htm. Barbey, Amélie. 2008. ‘La socialisation des Comoriens à Marseille: conservation et métamorphose des rôles et de usages sociaux en migration’. Doctoral dissertation. Aix-en-Provence: University Aix-Marseille I. Beech, Nic, Paul Hibbert, Robert MacIntosh, and Peter McInnes. 2009. ‘“But I Thought We Were Friends?” Life Cycles and Research Relationships’. In ­O rganizational Ethnography: Studying the Complexities of Everyday Life, edited by ­Sierk Ybema, Dvora Yanow, Harry Wels, and Frans Kamsteeg, 196–214. London: SAGE Publications Ltd. doi:10.4135/9781446278925.n11. Blanchard, Pascal, Nicolas Bancel, and Sandrine Lemaire. 2005. ‘Introduction. La fracture coloniale: une crise française’. In La fracture coloniale: La société française au prisme de l’héritage colonial, edited by Pascal Blanchard, Nicolas Bancel, and ­Sandrine Lemaire, 9–30. Paris: La Découverte. Blanchy, Sophie. 1998. ‘Les Comoriens, une immigration méconnue’. Hommes et Migrations 1215 (1): 5–20. doi:10.3406/homig.1998.3216. Blanchy, Sophie. 2011. ‘Cités et communes à Ngazidja (Comores). Conceptions, ­locale et importée, de la citoyenneté’. In Cultures citadines dans l’océan Indien occidental (XVIIIe - XXIe siècles): pluralisme, échanges, inventivité, edited by Faranirina V. ­Rajaonah, 271–287. Paris: Éd. Karthala. Carvajal, Andrés, Mounir Hamada Hamza, and Katharina Fritsch. 2016. Histoires de Twarab à Marseille/Histories of Twarab in Marseilles. Marseille/Barcelona/Vienna. 74 min. HD 16:9. Chapman, Herrick, and Laura Levine Frader, eds. 2004. Race in France: Interdisciplinary Perspectives on the Politics of Difference. New York: Berghahn Books. de Jong, Sara. 2016. ‘Cultural Brokers in Post-colonial Migration Regimes’. In Negotiating Normativity, edited by Nikita Dhawan, Elisabeth Fink, ­Johanna Leinius, and Rirhandu Mageza-Barthel, 45–59. Cham: Springer. doi:10.1007/978-3-319– 30984-2. Direche-Slimani, Karina, and Fabienne Le Houérou. 2002. Les Comoriens à Marseille: d’une Mémoire à l’autre. Paris: Editions Autrement. Eggers, Maureen Maisha, Susan Arndt, Grada Kilomba, and Peggy Piesche, eds. 2018. Mythen, Masken und Subjekte Kritische Weißseinsforschung in Deutschland. Münster: Unrast. Englert, Birgit. 2016. ‘Ref lections on the Role and Production of Research Films in African Studies’. In Africa Research in Austria: Approaches and Perspectives, edited by Andreas Exenberger and Ulrich Pallua, 43–64. Innsbruck: Innsbruck University Press. Fabian, Johannes. 1990. ‘Presence and Representation: The Other and Anthropological Writing’. Critical Inquiry 16 (4): 753–772. Fritsch, Katharina, and Mounir Hamada Hamza. 2021. ‘Komorische Kunst und Postkolonialismus: Eine Dialog-Montage auf der Basis des Dokumentarfilmprojekts Histoires de Twarab à Marseille’/‘L’art comorien et postcolonialisme: un ­d ialogue-monté à partir d’un projet de documentaire intitulé “Histoires de Twarab à Marseille”’. Journal Für Entwicklungspolitik ( JEP) XXXVII (1/2): 152–176. doi:doi.org/10.20446/JEP-2414–3197-37-261.

64  Reflections on Doing Ethnography Guénif-Souilamas, Nacira. 2006. ‘The Other French Exception: Virtuous Racism and the War of the Sexes in Postcolonial France’. French Politics, Culture & Society 24 (3): 23–41. Hamer, Bent (2003): Kitchen Stories/Salmer fra kjøkkenet. Norway/Sweden, 95 min. Jacobs, Anna, and Anna Weicker. 2011. ‘Afrika’. In Wie Rassismus Aus Wörtern Spricht: (K)Erben Des Kolonialismus Im Wissensarchiv Deutsche Sprache: Ein Kritisches Nachschlagewerk, edited by Susan Arndt and Nadja Ofuatey-Alazard, 200–214. Münster: Unrast Verlag. Keaton, Trica Danielle, T. Denean Sharpley-Whiting, and Tyler Edward Stovall, eds. 2012. Black France/France Noire: The History and Politics of Blackness. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Kerner, Ina. 2013. ‘Critical Whiteness Studies: Potentiale und Grenzen eines wissenspolitischen Projekts’. Feministische Studien: Zeitschrift für Interdisziplinäre Frauen- und Geschlechterforschung 31 (2): 278–293. doi:10.25595/1950. Kilomba, Grada. 2008. Plantation Memories: Episodes of Everyday Racism. Münster: Unrast. Kuria, Emily Ngubia. 2015. Eingeschrieben: Zeichen setzen gegen Rassismus an deutschen Hochschulen. 1Berlin: w_orten & meer. Littig, Beate. 2005. ‘Interviews mit Experten und Expertinnen. Überlegungen aus geschlechtertheoretischer Sicht’. In Das Experteninterview: Theorie, Methode, Anwendung, edited by Alexander Bogner, Beate Littig, and Wolfgang Menz, 191–206. Wiesbaden: VS, Verl. für Sozialwiss. Lorey, Isabell. 2008. ‘Kritik und Kategorie. Zur Begrenzung politischer Praxis durch neuere Theoreme der Intersektionalität, Interdependenz und Kritischen ­Weißseinsforschung’. In Kritik und Materialität, edited by Alex Demirović, 132– 148. Münster: Verl. Westfälisches Dampf boot. Smith, Linda Tuhiwai. 2012. Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and Indigenous ­Peoples. 2nd ed. London: Zed Books. Stepanik, Hanna. 2021. ‘“Batuku Moves Me”: On Postcolonial Negotiations of the Lisbon Metropolitan Area’. Doctoral dissertation. Vienna: University of Vienna. Thompson, Vanessa Eileen. 2020. ‘“We Have to Act. That Is What Forms Collectivity” Black Solidarity beyond Identity in Contemporary Paris’. In Locating African European Studies: Interventions, Intersections, Conversations, edited by Felipe ­Espinoza Garrido, Caroline Koegler, Deborah Nyangulu and Mark U Stein, ­31–45. ­L ondon; New York: Routledge. Visweswaran, Kamala. 2008. Fictions of Feminist Ethnography. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Notes 1 Eggers et al. (2004) follow an italicisation of whiteness, which has become quite common in the German-speaking context. This italicisation is meant to ­d ifferentiate whiteness as a category of hegemonic power from Blackness as a political category and a category of anti-racist struggles. While I agree with such an a­ pproach, I decided to not use italics in the case of whiteness, as it would ­(unintentionally) re-centre whiteness due to the common use of italics as a form of emphasis in the English-speaking context.

Reflections on Doing Ethnography  65 2 During the research project “Popular Culture in Translocal Spaces” at the Institute of African Studies at the University of Vienna, I suggested that we – the project staff – start to film ourselves while ref lecting on our research process and own positionalities. We called this project of self-ref lection – the turning of the camera on ourselves – ‘Kitchen Stories’, a title borrowed from the comedy project ‘Kitchen Stories’ (2013) by Bent Hamer, where he engages with the practice of observation by letting a researcher observe an old man while he is in his kitchen. I liked the title, as it evoked an idea of ‘feeling at home’, hence entering the comfort zone of research and researchers. One scene of this process was also included into the documentary project Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (Carvajal, Hamada Hamza, and Fritsch 2016; referred to in Englert 2016, 60).

4 Spaces of Communitarisation and Ethnicised Bordering

Introduction In this chapter, I focus on the dimension of space in the dispositif of communitarisation, that is, the relation between space and discourses, practices and institutions of Comorian communities in Marseille (see Chapter 2 for theoretical approach). As Doreen Massey (2005, 130) points out in For Space: “If space is rather a simultaneity of stories-so-far, then places are c­ ollections of those stories, articulations within the wider power-geometries of space”. Massey’s (2005) approach is similar to a dispositif-analytical approach (see Bührmann and Schneider 2008) as it addresses the discursive constitution of space, while situating it within larger power formations. Places are ­understood as temporary fixing of time and space, depending on constant reproduction through practices, thus entailing negotiation and, as a result, politics (Lefebvre 2011, 90; Massey 2005, 159). Thinking space from the perspective of the dispositif of communitarisation, I focus on the relation between space, communitarisation and ethnicised biopolitics, with the latter designating the (self-)governing of population groups through ethnicisation processes (Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2003, 174). I am interested in how spaces are governed through communitarisation processes and, conversely, how ethnicised communities are governed through space. In my analysis, I focus on the spaces and concrete places where the cultural and political events at the heart of this book took or continue to take place.1 The performance Heza, le chemin du taarab – part of Marseille’s status as European Capital of Culture in 2013 (Marseille-Provence 2013; MP2013) and a focus in this chapter – was organised in a park next to the town hall of the thirteenth/fourteenth arrondissement, and thus the Northern part of the city known as the quartiers nord (‘Northern districts’). All other political and cultural events took place either in the Dock des Suds, a renowned show venue, or in event halls located at the border to the Northern periphery and known as ‘salles de fête’. The Dock des Suds is usually referred to as a ‘salle de spectacle’ (‘show venue’), whereas ‘salle de fête’ can be translated as ‘festivity venue’. As I will show, the different terms indicate the ethnicised power relations that shape cultural spaces, which often go hand

DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665-4

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in hand with discourses of ‘culture’ – associated with spaces like the Dock des Suds – versus ‘tradition’ and/or ‘festivities’. Given these ethnicised connotations, I use the term ‘salles de fête’ in my analysis. The communitybased events referred to in this chapter, namely twarab events, a musical ­practice popular in Eastern Africa, the Comoros and in fundraising events organised by Franco-Comorian associations in France (see Chapter 5 on this musical practice), are associated with ‘tradition’ and take place in the salles de fête (see Chapter 4). As can be seen from the map, the Dock des Suds (white circle) and the salles de fête (dark circle) are ‘neighbours’, as they are only about 15 minutes away from each other on foot. Throughout this chapter, I will show that despite their spatial proximity, the two event halls are shaped by and in turn shape the dispositif of communitarisation, as they ref lect the relationship between space, discourses and practices of ethnicised communities and cultural practices. The relation between these nearby event halls is characterised by a dichotomy between

Map 4.1  Dock des Suds and the Salles de Fête: Neighbours Shaped by Ethnicised Bordering Source: adapted from www.openstreetmap.org by the author. ©opendatacommons.orgMitwirkende

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communitarised spaces – associated with the salles de fête – and spaces of ‘mixing’, associated with the Dock des Suds. Whereas spaces of ‘mixing’ are characterised by discourses and practices of middle-class ‘mixed’ communities, communitarised spaces are distinguished by discourses and practices of working-class ethnicised communities. Borrowing from Foucault’s (2007, 35) notion of “space of security” in the context of security dispositifs, I analyse the two forms of event halls as part of ‘spaces of communitarisation’. Whereas spaces of security show how biopolitics works by governing population groups along possible ‘uncertainties’ which might occur in a certain space (ibid.), the spaces of communitarisation indicate the (self-)governing of ethnicised communities through space. Biopolitics through space hence entails both the regulation of population groups through state practices as well as the self-regulation in space from the side of the population (Legg 2005, 141f.). On the one hand, ethnicised biopolitics works through the governing of ethnicised communities by ‘fixing’ them in certain spaces of the city. On the other, diasporic community is constituted through spatialised discourses and practices. Ethnicised biopolitics plays out here in terms of what I refer to as ethnicised bordering, which I derive from Avtar Brah’s (1996) concept of diaspora space, developed in her book Cartographies of Diaspora. This concept offers a perspective on the relation between space and diaspora through the notion of the border, which she describes as “arbitrary lines that are simultaneously social, cultural and psychic” (ibid., 194). Approaching space through the notion of the border goes along with a performative approach towards space (see Gregson and Rose 2000; Strüver and Wucherpfennig 2009), which emphasises the doing of space through boundary drawing between a ‘we’ and ‘Others’ (Ajanovic´, Mayer, and Sauer 2015, 77). In the context of ethnicised biopolitics, boundary drawing is marked by ethnicisation and racialisation processes, which also intersect with other categories such as gender or class (Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2011, 94, 97). Thinking of the relation between space and communitarisation in terms of ethnicised bordering places the focus on Othering and fixation processes, while it also considers the practices of negotiation of ethnicised communities through space. Spaces, discourses and practices thus also shape subjectivation processes, as identities are constructed through situating oneself and/or others in space (Gregson and Rose 2000, 441). In the context of the dispositif of communitarisation, I show that Comorian communities are governed through space by means of (social housing, culture, security and urban renewal) policies and that it is in the realm of such policies that discourses and practices of Comorian communities take place. I frame policies as biopolitical practices (Fassin 2009, 48f.), as they contribute to separating lives worthy of being supported from those not worthy of support “in terms of health and social policies, on employment and housing programmes, on education and welfare” (ibid., 53). Building on these considerations, I then focus on spatialised discourses and practices, that is, the meanings ascribed to spaces and places as well as the activities taking place in spaces and places

Communitarisation and Ethnicised Bordering  69

related to the events in focus. I draw on expert interviews (Bogner, Littig, and Menz 2005) with event organisers and managers of event halls and participant observations (Breidenstein et al. 2013) at twarab events and different ‘community spaces’ in the city.2 I will analyse how actors managing and/or organising activities in the respective cultural spaces present themselves and others as well as how they engage with ethnicised bordering. In this regard, I emphasise the role of Franco-Comorian actors – focusing in particular on associations and artists – as ‘community brokers’, which points to the role of ethnicised (self-) governing processes through brokerage (see Çakır and Fritsch 2021) in the context of spaces, cultural practices and the dispositif of communitarisation.

An Othered periphery In an interview, a representative of the twarab association Ngoma des Îles refers to the area of the salles de fête as located in a “périphérique” (Interview, 6 February 2015). As discussed in Chapter 5, twarab concerts are part of ­community-related events, usually organised by Franco-Comorian associations linked to a ‘village of origin’ and/or ‘region of origin’ with the aim of collecting funds for projects on the Comoros. Coming back to the term périphérique, the spatial reference emphasises the location of community-related events at the city’s periphery: On the one hand, the term makes reference to the highway A7 surrounding the area of the event halls, which links the city centre (centre-ville) to the Northern parts of the city continuing to Lyon; on the other hand, it refers to the Northern periphery, the quartiers nord, which comprise the thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth and sixteenth arrondissements. The location of the salles de fête thus illustrates a border locality, as they are literally located at the border between the city centre and the Northern districts. Some of the salles de fête are even located in the third arrondissement which formally counts to the city centre, although in an area that borders the fourteenth arrondissement. Yet and whilst formally only partly located in the Northern districts, I will show how the space where the salles de fête are located has been marked as ethnicised Other.3 Marseille’s topography shows some specificities in contrast to other French cities. Surrounded by the sea on one side and mountains on the other, the city is often presented as a city without banlieues, French for suburbs, and only made up of quartiers, neighbourhoods (Tödt 2011, 31). This representation holds up on a formal and political level: quartiers are juridically and politically part of the municipality, while banlieues are often independent (Peraldi and Samson 2006, 228). Yet, the images of and policies applied to the quartiers nord as well as the lived realities of those living in these parts of the city ref lect France-wide spatial realities of marginalisation and exclusion, with the banlieues – and more specifically the social housing areas known as cités – as the emblem of social marginalisation and exclusion (Wacquant 2008, 138ff.). Moreover, and given the predominance of Black communities and communities of colour in the cités, various authors (see e.g. Blanchard, Bancel, and Lemaire 2005; Bloom,

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Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009; Guénif-Souilamas 2006) emphasise a postcolonial perspective in terms of analysing colonial continuities in French society with regard to ethnicised and racialised Othering also going along with spatial divisions. However, as Bancel, Blanchard and Vergès (2003, 13) note: “[O]ne cannot seriously construct a parallel between colony and banlieue, colony and Overseas Department, colony and African countries. This would be an insult to those who have actually known colonisation and colonialism” (translation K.F.). A postcolonial perspective on cités does therefore not construct simple analogies, but rather shows how histories of colonialism and postcolonial migration shape spatial realities in France today. In contrast to other large French cities like Paris or Lyon, Marseille’s social and spatial topography has been rather marked by a classed and racialised North-South than by a centre-periphery divide. This North-South divide dates back to the 19th century and the construction of the port in the Northern part of the city which resulted in a “port-related industrial formation” (Césari 1994, 68, translation K.F.). This port-related industry led to the emergence of working-class housing areas for the port workers to the North of the port and port-related commercial activities and bourgeois residential areas to the South (ibid.). Today’s North-South divide is mainly the result of the construction of social housing estates from the 1960s on. The predominant location in the North ref lects deindustrialisation processes related to increased international competition and which resulted in the creation of space for real estate investment especially in this part of the city (D’Hombres and Scherer 2012, 171; see also Moreau 2015). The building of social housing estates was mainly a response to migration from former colonies: postcolonial (labour) migrants (see Cooper 2009) and the so-called repatriates from former French colonies, especially Algeria, represented by the so-called pieds-noirs (French citizens born in Algeria) – and harkis – Arab supporters of the French colonial system (Peraldi and Samson 2006, 227; see also Sayad, Jordi, and Témime 1991). The quartiers nord therefore ref lect a genealogy of classed and racialised North-South divisions, the presence of postcolonial migration in the city and the re-valorisation of space in the context of deindustrialisation processes. Furthermore, migration from the Comoros has shaped the city of Marseille since the colonial period. Up until the 1980s, Zakaria (2000, 76ff.) describes migration from the Comoros as ref lecting mainly “three generations of migration”: Combatants for the French army during WWII, workers recruited for the Merchant navy from the 1940s on, known as navigateurs (“mariners”) and students from the late 1960s on.4 In the face of labour migration related to ports – the merchant navy and the shipping industry – harbour cities like Marseille, Dunkerque or Le Havre became important places of residence for Comorian migrants (Blanchy 1998, 12). A Franco-Comorian journalist refers to the 1970s and 1980s as the main period of migration from the Comoros which occurred at a time when Marseille experienced an economic crisis: The Comorian community is one of the last large communities that massively came to Marseille in the 1970s, 1980s. And she came in a quite

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critical moment where there was a form of evolution in the society. On the one hand an impoverishment of the town. Marseille was never rich, she became poorer and poorer. So, we arrive precisely in a period – there was a period in the 60s, 70s, it was a quite rich period where there was … demand for labour etc. (Interview, 21 November 2013) The journalist refers to the ‘trente glorieuses’ (the ‘Glorious Thirties’), the period of post-war economic prosperity between the mid-1940s and mid-1970s, characterised by an active recruitment of migrant labour, including workers from former colonies (Rudder and Vourc’h 2009, 186). In this context, cities like Paris or Lyon also became important areas of residence for Comorian migrants, given the concentration of industries in these areas (Blanchy 1998, 11). In contrast to the predominant labour migration, migration from the Comoros in the 1980s was mainly taking place by means of family reunification. While labour migration was mainly male, family reunification policies ref lect gendered discourses on migration (management), though in a different way, since it is women who are construed as ‘following’ their husbands and who are marked as ‘dependent’ and ‘passive migrants’ (Sauer 2011, 54f.; see Cournil and Recio 2012 on family reunification in France). The increase of social housing especially in the 1970s was also partly a response to poor housing conditions in neighbourhoods in the centre-ville mainly inhabited by migrant working-class communities. In their ethnographic work on the Comorian diaspora in Marseille in the late 1990s, Karima Direche-Slimani and Fabienne Le Houérou (2002, 79f.) show that some of their Comorian informants associated the cités in the quartiers nord with ‘modernity’, while the centre-ville, especially the neighbourhood of Le Panier, was associated with new arrivals and degrading living conditions. The neighbourhood of Le Panier in the second arrondissement is a historical neighbourhood, known as a place of arrival to migrants during different periods – Italian migrants during the 19th century, migrants from the colonies at the beginning of the 20th century and then postcolonial migrants (see Sayad, Jordi, and Témime 1991; Témime et al. 1989). Whereas the spatial shift to the Northern districts was an improvement of living conditions at first, it has become “representative of the process of fixation of poverty and immigrant populations in the area” (Gulian 2004, 121, translation K.F.). Valéria Sala Pala (2007, 10) explicitly shows how such a fixation is the result of institutional racism shaping the allocation of f lats according to racist stereotypes and ascriptions. Othering of the quartiers nord becomes especially evident with regard to discourses of ‘(in)security’. Since 2012, the area has been a “priority security zone” (ZSP), a spatialised category marking zones in the city as ‘high priority’ for security measures, legitimating for instance an increased police presence (“Les zones de sécurité prioritaires” 2021). The ongoing securitisation processes ref lect a longer history and presence of ethnicised discourses of a ‘rise in criminality’ in French cities since the 1980s, associating criminality especially

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with youth of colour, predominantly ‘Maghrebian youth’ (­Bouamama 2006, 211; for the ‘fight against criminality’ in France, see Mucchielli 2007). At this point, I do not mean to undermine the degree of violence affecting inhabitants of the cités because of the large and illegalised drug commerce especially in this part of the city. The violence has experienced a drastic level during the times of Covid-19, which shows the intensification of existing inequalities in times of a pandemic (see e.g. Albertini 2021). Yet, it is exactly the securitisation of neighbourhoods in the Northern periphery that has resulted in a paradox situation, where people who are most affected by different forms of violence in the cités feel abandoned by the Republic (see e.g. Zappi 2013). Such an abandonment ref lects the relation between biopolitics, space and securitisation processes, as the population of the cités is not only governed through securitisation processes, but they are also ‘left alone’. ­Collier (2009, 87) describes this relationship between biopolitics, space and securitisation in terms of a “field that precisely does not admit to control, that cannot be ‘possessed’ by the state, and that must be left alone to its own mechanisms and processes” (emphasis in original). Ethnicised biopolitics can be identified, as securitisation policies go along with a governing of ethnicised populations through spatial abandonment on the part of local politics. This larger context of the marking of the quartiers nord as ethnicised Other also shapes cultural politics and the spaces where they take place. Accordingly, discourses of (in-)security can be observed with regard to the spaces in which the salles de fête are located. In an interview, a representative of Nomad’Café – a “Mediterranean cultural space” (“espace culturel méditerrannée”; “Nomad’Café” n.d.) used for cultural, social and religious activities organised by Franco-Comorian associations on the weekends – addresses discourses of (in-)security: A:  Yeah, it’s true, if you say that you are near the Dock [des Suds], people will

come around. If you say that you are next to Bougainville, they won’t come. I:  And has it always been like that? A:  Yes it has always been like that. People are afraid of Bougainville, Félix Pyat … they mix things up, they tell themselves “no I don’t like” (Interview, 9 April 2015) The experiences described by the representative of Nomad’Café shows how the Dock des Suds connotes ‘familiarity’ and hence ‘security’, whilst Bougainville and Félix Pyat connote ‘insecurity’. By the time of the research, Bougainville was the last station of the metro line 2 and main bus station for buses to head to the Northern districts. Félix Pyat refers to a social housing area located between this metro station and the one before called National (see Map 4.1). At this point, it is important to note again that the respective places are all located about 15 minutes from each other on foot. Moreover, it is important to ref lect on who is referred to as being ‘afraid’ in the quote: a public that usually lives in

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the city centre or the Southern parts of the city and which goes to Nomad’Café during the week when ‘alternative’ music events take place, ranging from Soul and Rock via World Music to Electronic Music. The quote hence refers to people who belong to the ‘cosmopolitan’, though predominantly white middle class of Marseille. The representative of Nomad’Café then goes on with his description: The quartier here, from one street to the other, one finds oneself…When you are on the other side, you don’t find yourself in a good neighbourhood, but this has completely changed, and on the other side it is the favelas, so the neighbourhood has changed a lot, there is not much mixing, because I know when the people at the beginning of Nomad they tried for people from Félix [Pyat], of Bellevue [social housing area in Félix Pyat] to come, all this to tell them that we are, but nobody ever came, because there are two streets to cross or I don’t know, the music we offer was not interesting. (Interview, 9 April 2015) Classed and ethnicised borders become apparent with regard to space and cultural practices. Nomad’Café is said to be located in a ‘good neighbourhood’, currently being gentrified in the course of the second extension of the urban renovation project Euroméditerranée (“Parc Bougainville” n.d.), which raises the question of how this process will also affect the salles de fête in this area. The cité of Félix Pyat, in contrast, is presented as the ethnicised Other of this ‘cosmopolitan’ community meeting at Nomad’Café. Spatialised classed and ethnicised borders also play into cultural practices, as the interviewee explains that Comorian communities regularly frequent Nomad’Café on the weekends for community-related events, while ‘they’ do not attend cultural events organised during the week. The housing area of Félix Pyat or, more concretely, the Parc Bellevue, as the housing estate is officially called, was one of the first copropriétés (co-­ ownership) constructed in the 1950s and has become known as one of the (in)famous cités in Marseille (Dryef 2008; see D’Hombres and Scherer 2012 for a history of Félix Pyat).5 While situated in the third arrondissement and hence the formal city centre, this cité ref lects bordering processes characteristic to the quartiers nord. For decades, Félix Pyat has been an important space especially for migrant populations who have been excluded from the housing market, especially the social housing market: predominantly migrants from Tunisia and Algeria during the 1960s, 1970s and 1980s, migrants from Iraq or Bosnia and Herzegovina during the 1980s and since the 1990s predominantly migrants from the Comoros and their descendants (ibid., 108ff.). In the 1990s, Félix Pyat, hosting more than 4,000 residents at that time (ibid., 163), became the emblem of the ‘social crisis of the quartiers’ having shaped political and public discourse in France more generally since the 1980s (Fassin and Fassin 2009, 6). In other words, although Félix Pyat has always been an important

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space for people excluded from the housing market, it has itself become positioned as an ‘excluded space’. Against this backdrop, public ­interventions aimed at ‘re-integrating’ the space, resulting into a partial transformation of the estate into social housing and subjugating Félix Pyat under a “HLM dispositif ” (Peraldi and Samson 2006, 230), that is, a set of policies, programs, actions and measures related to social housing. The policy interventions since the 1990s are contradictory. On the one hand, the public interventions were a crucial necessity given the ­precarity of the space. Félix Pyat has been known for well-established drug networks, ­ essard which have continued to affect the inhabitants up until today (see e.g. F and Pascariello 2017). On the other hand, these interventions have established biopolitical forms of regulation and control, as the space and the population groups living (t)here have been subjected to encompassing security mechanisms that have placed the populations living in these areas under ‘general suspicion’, following a logic of ‘internal enemies’ (Bouamama 2006, 212; see also Rigouste 2011). Félix Pyat then presents a “space of security” (Foucault 2007, 35), characterised by forms of governing the space of the cité and the population groups inhabiting it in a way so that the ‘overall security’ of the society at large is ‘secured’ (Foucault 2003, 249). The strong dimension of ethnicised Othering and fixation processes shaping the quartiers nord shows how these spaces of security are situated in a postcolonial context and thus interact with spaces of communitarisation, marked by the dichotomy between a ‘we’, the ‘national community’ versus ethnicised Others, namely ethnicised communities that are meant and made to ‘stay’ in a certain space and place (Guénif-Souilamas 2006, 30). Yet, and as I show in the following section, cultural practices of Comorian communities contest such a fixing of ethnicised communities in the periphery, as they also shape spaces in the city through discourses and practices of diasporic community.

Communitarising the centre-ville Against the background of the just described North-South divide, the ­centreville – the area around the historical centre and the first seven ­arrondissements – presents a part of the city in its own right, ref lecting histories of migration and a continuous, though highly contested, presence of (ethnicised) ­working-class neighbourhoods next to middle- and upper-class living areas (Tödt 2011, 34). In this regard, different authors (see e.g. Bertoncello and Bredeloup 1999; Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002; Peraldi and Samson 2006) have outlined the role of the neighbourhoods of Noailles, Belsunce and Le Panier – all (formerly) working-class neighbourhoods – as places of arrival, transit and housing since the end of WWII for migrants from North Africa, ­Sub-Saharan Africa and Asia. In line with their analysis, a Franco-Comorian deputy district mayor links his personal history with community history: “I was born in the Panier, the most… the oldest neighbourhood of Marseille. It is where the whole Comorian community arrived in the 1970s” (Interview,

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12 November 2013). The presence of ethnicised working-class populations has, however, been a contested one since their arrival. Since the 1970s, the city centre has been subjugated under urban renovation policies. The discourses accompanying these policies show classist and racist underpinnings: Be it the renovation of Le Panier in the mid-1970s, mobilising a discursive linking between the ‘degradation’ and the ‘Neapolitan community’, the urban renewal projects conducted in Belsunce in the mid-1980s, an ‘Arab district’ since the beginning of the 20th century, or the more recent gentrification processes in the popular neighbourhoods of La Rue de la République, Noailles, La Plaine and La Porte d’Aix, conducted in the course of the large urban policy project Euroméditerranée (Peraldi and Samson 2006, 176ff.).6 As Hernandez et al. (2013, 187) argue, urban renewal policies in the city centre of Marseille “question the primary function of these spaces, [namely as a] space of sociability, of encounter and of diversity. Economic precarity and social fragility are perceived as incompatible with the desired image of a renewed Marseille” (translation K.F.). This process of renovation is an uneven process situated within processes of touristification (see e.g. Gravari-Barbas and Guinand 2018), while not supporting the renovation of desolated living areas. The latter is revealed by the dramatic events at the Rue d’Aubagne, where two buildings collapsed in 2018, resulting in the death of eight people, among them Black and people of colour, students and homeless people.7 The presence of twarab posters and Franco-Comorians involved in the mobilisation at different places in the centre-ville then presents the negotiation of places as it asks for “rights of presence and confronts the fact of difference” (Massey 2005, 154) in the city as communal space. In the context of my research on twarab events, the centre-ville was also addressed as a former spatial reference. Accordingly, a representative of Ngoma des Îles explained that twarab events had not always been organised where they took place today: Since the twarab has started, no, no, no, no, no, since the twarab has started Comorians played at the Boulevard Chave, in a small hall called Alhambra. This is, this is about 30 years ago. There was a small hall in the direction of the Vieux Port [Old Port, located in the city centre]. (Interview, 6 February 2015) The spatial location of the salles de fête in the Northern periphery ref lects a gradual expulsion of communities of colour and community-related cultural practices from the city centre and their fixation in the Northern districts. Against this backdrop, promoting concerts in the areas around the salles de fête seemed logical to me. However, I regularly came across twarab posters at certain places in the city centre. I read this presence of twarab posters as a form of appropriation in terms of spatialised counter-practices to “dominated space” (Lefebvre 2011, 165), presented by gentrified space in this case.

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I start with La Porte d’Aix, a synonym for the square Jules-Guesde, which is located right behind La Porte d’Aix, a triumphal arch situated right at the entrance of the highway A7, which then heads to the Northern parts of the city. This area is also part of the urban renovation project Euroméditerranée, which aims at improving public and private mobility in this area and expanding on student facilities (“Saint Charles/Porte d’Aix” n.d.), which indicates the ‘desired’ population – middle-class populations – in contrast to the (ethnicised) working classes that have been frequenting these neighbourhoods the last decades. Research from the late 1990s mentions the square as a central meeting place for Comorians, linking its importance to the historical connection as a hiring space for the merchant navy during the 1960s (Bertoncello and Bredeloup 1999, 192), its proximity to mosques frequently attended by Comorians (Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002, 84), of which the mosque of Saint-Mauront was still existing at the time of the research (2013– 2015), its proximity to the popular market of Marché du Soleil (ibid.) and/or its strategic location of the square at a crossroads for those coming from the centre-ville and those coming from the quartiers nord (Blanchy 1998, 13). While passing the square with a representative of a Comorian women’s association, she referred to La Porte d’Aix as the “pentagon” of the “Comorian community” (Ethnographic protocol, 10 October 2013). As she then specified, it was the notabilité, the male customary elite, which usually met at this square. In their ethnographic work Les Comoriens à Marseille (2002), Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou use the term bangwe, the Shingazidja term for public square, in order to describe the presence of the Comorian notabilité on this square in Marseille in the late 1990s (ibid., 84). In doing so, the two authors address the articulation of the intersection of space, customary practices and gender in a context of diaspora. As Walker (2010, 78) emphasises in Becoming the Other, Being Oneself, on Ngazidja, customary practice is intrinsically related to space, with the island as a central reference on a macro- and the village on a micro-level. Moreover, he underlines the dialectics inscribed into the relation between mila, that is, usage or customary law, and ntsi, that is, land – combined as mila na ntsi, “usage of the land”, as “it is rather the space with which mila unfolds” (ibid.). Thinking La Porte d’Aix as bangwe indicates the relevance of the Comorian diaspora as well as Marseille as a space for mila to unfold. The regular fundraising activities of Franco-Comorian associations ref lect the economic dependency of localities on the Comoros on their diaspora. This is one side of the coin, whereas the presence of twarab posters at the square also shows how such spatialised customary power relations are re-articulated in a context of diaspora. As discussed in Chapter 5, the mobilisation for community-related events like twarab works through membership to a locality. It is then through the spatial presence of the notabilité – as male heads of a locality – at a strategic place in the city that members of associations are mobilised. As heads of a locality, the notabilité is also connected to members of a respective locality on Ngazidja, which transforms the square into a ‘diaspora space’ (Brah 1996), embedded in translocal economic, social and cultural networks.

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Map 4.2  Communitarised Spaces in the Centre-Ville Source: adapted from www.openstreetmap.org by the author. ©opendatacommons.orgMitwirkende

From La Porte d’Aix, one might go down the Rue d’Aix, which leads to Cours Belsunce, a popular square in the first arrondissement. From there, one crosses the large avenue of La Canébière and one arrives at the popular market of Noailles. At the entrance to the market, there are large billposter walls where I regularly found posters promoting twarab events. While La Porte d’Aix ref lects a diasporisation of the city centre through diasporic customary relations, the second place addresses its role as a diaspora space with regard to translocal business activities. Despite ongoing gentrification processes, Noailles has remained a centre for ethnicised entrepreneurs as well as a popular market (see Ahmad 2019 on the role of the centre-ville as a space for female Comorian entrepreneurs).8 I regularly met people in Noailles who I knew from my research. The entrance to the market hence appeared at least at the moment of the research as a strategic location to promote twarab events, as the intended public regularly passed this market. From Noailles, one might pass through La Belle de Mai, a neighbourhood in the third arrondissement

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of Marseille and a central living area for members of the Comorian diaspora since the 1990s (Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002, 48). Walking down the Boulevard National, one of the main avenues of Belle de Mai, the number of posters promoting twarab events increases. At the end of the boulevard, one arrives at the centre of twarab, the cité of Félix Pyat.

Communitarised spaces At the time of my research, there were four salles de fête where cultural and religious events regularly organised by Franco-Comorian associations took place: the Salon d’Ishtar, also known as Le Garage, located at Félix Pyat; Nomad’Café and Orient Palace, located in Boulevard Briançon; and Salon Magallon, located behind the metro station Bougainville (see Map 4.1). In this section, I discuss the salles de fête as communitarised spaces, that is cultural spaces associated with and used by ethnicised communities. In France, the salles de fête point to working-class history and culture, which dates back to the mid-19th century ( Jonas 1994, 20). The history of the salles de fête in focus, however, is a much younger one, namely around 15–20 years, and ref lects the predominance of Black communities and communities of colour within France’s working classes (Wacquant 2008, 154). While situated at the city’s periphery, these event halls point to the negotiation of cultural centres in the context of postcolonial diaspora. The following extract of one of my ethnographic protocols ref lects such centre-periphery relations, of which I was part as a researcher: It is Saturday, end of January 2015, a twarab concert is held at Salon d’Ishtar at Félix Pyat. To me, reaching the concert means taking the underground line 2 from the city centre, where I live, more specifically from the underground station Notre-Dame-du-Mont, also known as Cours Julien, up to the station National, which is the nearest to Félix Pyat. It is around 11 p.m. There are not a lot of people going into the direction of Félix Pyat. It comes to my attention that there are hardly any white people in the underground. The last underground leaves at around 12.30 a.m. This means that I can reach the place by public transport, but there is no way to go back with it, leaving the possibilities of going by foot, car or taxi. (Ethnographic protocol, twarab, 24 January 2015) The description of how I got to the concert presents twarab as a cultural activity at the city’s periphery. In contrast, Cours Julien, one of the ‘hip’ areas in the city centre surrounded by bars, cultural cafés, artisanal shops as well as a children’s playground and water fountains, is described as a ‘cultural centre’. However, the description of twarab as situated at the city’s periphery and Cours Julien as situated in the centre always depends on the location one speaks from, in my case from the perspective of a white female PhD student,

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who was living just around the corner of Cours Julien. The border between centre and periphery is further described as a racialised one, as my reference to the few white people in the underground suggests. Moreover, my note on the lack of public transport at night unmasks the institutionalised hindrance of border crossings between the spaces in question. However, the fact that the metro runs until 12.30 a.m. is already an important achievement. Since December 2019, the line of the metro 2 has further been extended to the North, adding one more stop. While Félix Pyat and the area around Bougainville have been discursively and socially marked as the cultural ‘periphery’, when a twarab event takes place in Félix Pyat, the cité becomes a cultural centre. Let me then continue with another extract of the same protocol on an evening where I went to a twarab concert with a friend of mine. We walk down the street of Félix Pyat, the main street in the cité. We pass the top of the hill and walk down the street in the direction of the highway. At the bottom of the street, one can already see the event hall, named Salon d’Ishtar, where the twarab event is going to take place. On the way, we meet some people the artist knows, who are also going to the concert. They talk to each other in Comorian. Bit by bit, people are arriving at the concert, some arrive by car, others arrive by foot. The corner of the street in front of the event hall is packed with cars. People are getting out of cars. Some people are standing around in front of the entrance, talking, smoking, mostly Black young men. (Ethnographic protocol, twarab, 24 January 2015) The passage draws a picture of a familial space in which people meet on their way to a twarab concert. Moreover, the reference to the street packed with cars challenges dominant images that ascribe certain population groups to certain spaces. Rather, what becomes apparent is that Félix Pyat is a centre of twarab and a place where people go when they want to go to a twarab event; or, as a twarab artist describes it: There are these kind of people who will go there all the time to amuse themselves. He will go to the twarab, I don’t even know where he lives, [he] will drive down to Félix Pyat [laughs] to go to the twarab. (Interview, 4 February 2015) As Brah (2003, 633) outlines, the notion of centre and periphery needs to be understood as a relational one that is embedded within power relations: “My argument is that they are not ‘minority’ identities, nor are they at the periphery of something that sees itself located at the centre, although they may be represented as such” (emphasis in original). In other words, even though twarab might be situated at the periphery with respect to what is perceived as dominant cultural centre in Marseille, the area around Félix Pyat, Boulevard Briançon

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and Bougainville presents a centre for twarab and other community-related cultural and religious activities of Franco-Comorian associations. Franco-Comorian associations as community brokers Following Massey (2005, 141), there is no causal relationship between places and community, rather this relation is the effect of meaning-making processes and concrete practices. The question at stake is then how the communitarisation of the salles de fête has been brought into being. Such an approach asks for a performative understanding of space, as the communitarisation of spaces and places is thought of in terms of a materialisation of discourse – that is community ascriptions – through practices (Strüver and Wucherpfennig 2009, 119). In this section, I will show how the salles de fête have been communitarised through Franco-Comorian associations performing the role of ‘community brokers’. In the context of the Comoros, the broker has been emphasised as a historical figure (see Prestholdt 2008; Walker 2010). In the context of Ngazidja, Iain Walker (2010, 57) addresses brokerage in terms of a self-described role as middlemen and “crucial partners” within Indian Ocean trading networks from the 15th century on. I argue that this historical broker role can be observed in a very different space and at a very different time, namely in the postcolonial context of the salles de fête ref lected in ethnicised social and economic relations. While talking to the owner of Salon Magallon, he mentions the Comorian community as his main clientele: Knowing that before 2006 I had another hall called Orient Palace (…) so I was able to get to know the Comorian community already since 2003. […] When they heard that I would open in the area, the same area, because Orient Palace is located around Bougainville [second last station of underground 2]. In the same area, to open a hall so grandiose, you know that the Comorian community is quite large, when they organise a wedding, it is villages that move. So, they come to me, they are happy to have such a large and well-equipped establishment. So, I have known the Comorian community since 2003 and today I work with them as I have explained just before, between 80 and 90 percent of the Comorian community comes to me. And the other 10 percent, it is a bit the rest of the world [laughs], they are a bit oriental, a bit from my side, Algerian, Tunisian, Moroccan, European all this. (Interview, 15 February 2015) The event hall owner refers to the Comorian community as making up 80%– 90% of his clientele, hence indicating the profitability of activities organised by Franco-Comorian associations and individuals for his business. Moreover, the reference to the other 10% indicates his membership in another ethnicised community which he describes as the “Algerian, Moroccan, Tunisian

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community” as “his community” (ibid.). He then links the dominance of the Comorian community in renting the event hall to the ‘fact’ that “their habitation and their place is located around Bougainville” (ibid.). Ethnicised ascriptions to spaces become apparent, as the owner ascribes or rather fixes Comorian populations in the area. With regard to the location of Muslim places of worship in Marseille, ­Vincent Geisser (2009, 9) also relates their frequency in the quartiers nord to an “‘existential’ logic” (translation K.F.) in terms of a proximity to housing areas. In this regard, he emphasises the existence of Comorian Qu’ran schools, known as shionis, which he describes as showing a strong independence from other Qu’ran schools and which Geisser relates to the wish of members of the Comorian diaspora for “auto-organisation” (ibid., 7). The communitarisation of the salles de fête from the side of Franco-Comorian associations goes in line with Geisser’s argument. However, and as I will show in the following, it is less the result of a spatial condition, but the effect of strategic forms of appropriation and practices of diasporic community. Let me turn to the interview with a representative of Ngoma des Îles where I explicitly asked the question of the choice of the location: I:  How

did it happen that you are here [in this salle de fête], is it because the majority of the community lives in this area? A:  No, no, no, no, it is because the event halls were less expensive, and the organization of evening events is very important, always for the benefit of the Comoros. (Interview, 6 February 2015) The representative of the twarab association clearly contests a fixing of Comorian populations in the Northern parts of the city and rather frames the decision to get involved in these event halls as a strategic decision in terms of economic profitability. As he explains, their role as a twarab association is to support “humanitarian associations that organise, how shall I say it, humanitarian projects on the Comoros and that come to us asking whether we can help them to organise an event to collect the maximum amount of funds” (ibid.). He further outlines that their role is to provide the musicians and the technical equipment as well as to negotiate the price with the respective salle de fête, which I was told to be usually about 2,000 Euros for an entire day, including the evening. In this regard, he then emphasises the close relationship between the association and one of the salles de fête, the Salon d’Ishtar: “If someone comes… to propose a twarab or a large festivity to us, we tell him ‘our hall is that one’, so it is” (ibid.). The association’s representative presents the event hall as if it was ‘theirs’, which ref lects the connotation of this event hall from the side of the association as a ‘community space’. The presentation of Salon d’Ishtar as ‘their event hall’ further ref lects a subject position of the association Ngoma des Îles as a mediating partner to locality-related ­Franco-Comorian associations, based on a shared ethnicised origin.

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As the relation between Nomad’Café and the Franco-Comorian association ANIF (Ngomé d’Itsandra en France/Association Citadel of Itsandra in France) shows, this strategic partnership goes along with a positioning as a ‘crucial partner’ (Walker 2010, 57) towards the managers of the event halls. As explained earlier in this section, Nomad’Café organises music events during the week and on the weekends ANIF uses the cultural space. When I ask him how this cooperation came into place, he refers to their shared experience of having grown up in the Northern districts: Because given the fact that coming from the quartiers nord of Marseille, we had… we built this place as childhood friends and that is that it came that he was in ANIF, he was looking for a place and we provided him with the office, quite simply. (Interview, 9 April 2015) The cooperation between Nomad’Café and ANIF, an association related to the region of Itsandra on Ngazidja is presented as the result of friendship ties, more specifically between a Franco-Maghrebian representative of Nomad’Café and a Franco-Comorian representative of ANIF. However, ethnicised constructions of ‘origin’ are contested as the representative of Nomad’Café refers to a shared spatial ‘origin’, the quartiers nord, thus making reference to a shared social and economic reality. Yet, ethnicised divisions of labour can be observed with respect to the organisation of cultural activities in the space, as he explains: We really, really, really only work with ANIF. Well, I know there are lots of stories concerning villages and so on, it is highly complex. So for us with ANIF it is already complicated, we don’t want to complicate things more with other comm… with other villages and associations. […] We, I only talk with people of ANIF. As soon as a Comorian comes to organise something with ANIF, you arrange yourself with them. Then it’s them who manage. (Ibid.) Despite the fact that ANIF represents a specific region on the largest island of Ngazidja, their role is framed as a ‘broker’ towards any ‘Comorian’. The ethnicisation of the role of ANIF is also presented as a ‘solution’ to the current way of how Franco-Comorian associations are organised, namely along the social category of locality, which he presents as ‘highly complex’. His self-correction from – “comm…”(unities) – to “villages” and then to “associations” shows how associations are ascribed the role of representing ethnicised communities. At this point, I aim at linking Geisser’s (2009, 7) argument of a wish for auto-organisation with the strategic moment of performing a specific subject position, that is, an ethnicised one. What becomes evident is that the broker role of Franco-Comorian associations follows a

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‘strategic essentialism’ (Spivak 1996, 214) in terms of performing ‘Comorianness’ in order to pursue locality-related social, cultural and economic practices related to customary practices, as discussed in more detail in Chapter 5. In doing so, Franco-Comorian associations perform a broker role within a translocal space, as they broker between event halls and locality-related associations that are linked to members of this locality on Ngazidja. The specific broker role of Franco-Comorian associations hence complicates the notion of auto-organisation as it poses the question of strategic alliances and collaborations in order to act autonomously as a diasporic community. Performing the role as community brokers can then be understood as a form of governing as it allows the managers and owners of the event halls to ‘manage’ FrancoComorian associations and their activities. Moreover, it presents a form of self-governing from the side of Franco-Comorian associations in order to be able to pursue their cultural and economic activities. In Chapter 7, I show that Franco-Comorian politicians also perform community brokers as a form of ethnicised (self-)governing in the context of local politics. It is in the face of strong relationships between certain Franco-Comorian associations and the salles de fête that the respective event halls have become associated with the Comorian community, as the same representative of Nomad’Café remarks: “Now in fact in the neighbourhood, as there are a lot of weddings and Comorian festivities, now everybody thinks that it is only event halls for Comorians” (Interview, 9 April 2015). In the face of such a dominant association of the salles de fête with the ‘Comorian community’, a centrist Franco-Comorian district councillor addresses the question of ownership: So to be clear, there is money which circulates in this domain, there is an economy that exists, […] which Comorians try to capture, Comorian entrepreneurs, we are still very far away when I think for example about the salles de fête, so there is a second one that is managed by a Comorian, before this did not exist. And it is all other managers of the salles de fête who have profited, […] it is about thousands of euros every month. (Interview, 17 February 2015) The district councillor comments on the fact that the salles de fête are not owned by Franco-Comorians. As has already become apparent with regard to two, but all four salles de fête were managed by Franco-Maghrebian entrepreneurs, which ref lects the presence of Franco-Maghrebians in certain business domains in the context of Marseille (see Peraldi 2006). As the district deputy mayor further explains, there are two event halls managed by Franco-Comorians, namely the Espace Dauphin, also located in the area of the respective salles de fête, and Tropikal Palace, an event hall located farther North, in the fourteenth arrondissement. Yet, both event halls were not mentioned in any interview regarding twarab events, neither have I come across a twarab in one of these event halls. Communitarised relations hence do not

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shape owner-clientele relations in the context of twarab events; instead, they are said to complicate business relations, as the same politician argues: Working for someone who is a stranger is easier than working for a ­Comorian, if it is about economic relations. Because there are a lot of things which put themselves… it means a Comorian is inevitably ­someone who lives in a location, with whom one has other relations than economic ones. (Interview, 17 February 2015) The politician addresses the interplay of economy and social norms which shape economic relations in the context of Comorian communities, characterised by membership to a locality and a symbolic economy of ­exchange interacting with a material economy of exchange in terms of reciprocity and loyalty (Blanchy 2013; see also Chapter 5). The business relation between Franco-Maghrebian entrepreneurs and Franco-Comorian associations then ref lects a postcolonial context in which economic relations have been ­ethnicised – in terms of owner-clientele relationship – mediated by the larger setting of dominant ‘multicultural’ versus marginalised ethnicised c­ ultural markets in Marseille.

Spaces of ‘mixing’ In this section, I will look into ethnicised bordering with regard to what I refer to as spaces of ‘mixing’. During colonial times, the French term métissage referred to the ‘mixing’ of colonising and colonised population groups (Dubois 2000, 21ff.). In the postcolonial period, the term has been used in contemporary France as a counter-model to ‘communautarisme’, ‘communitarianism’, the latter being associated with British ‘multiculturalism’ (see e.g. the official declaration by Sarkozy in 2003 or Macron 2017, cited in Gendron 2017).9 As Gutiérrez Rodríguez (2015, 85) emphasises, discourses of métissage reproduce “the assumption of society as organised by sealed ethnic and racial units”. ‘Mixing’ then indicates biopolitics, as society is understood as consisting of ethnicised and racialised population groups, which can be and/ or shall be ‘mixed’. In Marseille, discourses of ‘mixing’ become apparent in the image of Marseille as a ‘cosmopolitan city’, mobilised since the 1980s in popular culture, media and politics, both from the side of the (liberal-)left and the (conservative or liberal) right-wing (Gastaut 2003, para. 30f.). The dominance of this image needs to be put into context of a rise in extreme-right violence and populism since the 1970s, also ref lected by an increased presence and popularity of the far-right party Front National (FN), today Rassemblement National (National Rally; RN), in local politics in the region of Provence (Dell’Umbria 2006, 584f.). Right-wing violence has also affected Comorian communities, as on February 25, 1995, Ibrahim Ali, a 17-year-old

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Franco-Comorian and member of the Rap-Group B-Vice was killed by two Front National members on his way home. As response to such racist attacks and killings, political and cultural mobilisations against right-wing ­extremism increased, also ­making reference to the ‘cosmopolitan’ character of Marseille (Tödt 2011, 74).10 In this section, I read discourses of métissage framed as ‘cosmopolitanism’ as a form of governing and self-governing in a city shaped by migration and diasporisation. I will analyse spaces of ‘mixing’ as ref lecting cultural policies in Marseille since the 1990s, on the one hand, and practices and perceptions of the self of actors working and performing in these cultural industries, on the other. In doing so, I show how dominant ‘multicultural’ spaces mobilise discourses and practices of middle-class ‘mixed’ communities. In my discussion, I focus on the Dock des Suds as a prominent show venue and the musical performance Heza, le chemin du taarab (hereafter, Heza), a performance on the history of twarab music that took place in the course of Marseille’s status as Capital of Culture in 2013. The performance was created by Chébli Mzaidié, performed together with Sergent Garcia, Sam Mangwana, Julia Saar, ­Ousman Danedjo, Za Madjini, Vladimir Cagnolari and Soro Solo, and featuring Youssoupha. It was a co-production between the Franco-­Comorian association ArtsCom, the production society Weedoo Publishing, the association Planète Emergence and the borough hall of the thirteenth/fourteenth arrondissement. Cultural policies and white spatial reconquest In the mid-1990s, the French press declared that Marseille was experiencing a ‘movida marseillaise’ (Bressan and Dupont 1994), addressing the emergence of an avant-garde artistic and cultural scene in a city shaped by an economic crisis. This apparent ‘boom’ ref lects a long history of Marseille as a central space for popular culture as well as active cultural policies, since the late 1980s, and associated with leftist mayors especially Vigouroux (Gastaut 2003, para. 31f.). Even though at first glance the promotion of cultural industries appears to be a leftist policy, it is important to note that it has been continued under the conservative-right mayor Claude Gaudin (2004 to 2020), ref lected mainly in coining Marseille-Provence as European Capital of Culture as his political ‘achievement’ (Peraldi 2006, 209). Central to cultural politics in Marseille has been the transformation of former warehouses, predominantly in port-related industries, into spaces of cultural and artistic production. Since the 1990s, different warehouses have been created, such as the transformation of a former tobacco factory in the third arrondissement into La Friche Belle De Mai, a place that hosts more than 60 cultural producers, groups, companies, associations and artists, but also a radio and art galleries (“Histoire de la Friche” n.d.); or the creation of the Cités des Arts de la Rue in the fifteenth arrondissement. The transformation of former mostly port-related industries into cultural industries

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ref lects deindustrialisation processes in Marseille and the need for a change in economic strategies since the 1980s (see Donzel 2015; Moreau 2015). What becomes apparent is the relation between space and production in times of late capitalism, in which capital depends on the re-appropriation of existing spaces of production, a process Henri Lefebvre (2011, 67) refers to as “diversion” and which he considers to be crucial in the creation of “new spaces”. The relation of artistic production and real estate investment becomes evident when the development officer of the Dock des Suds explains its history: It is an association that created a festival called La Fiesta des Suds 22 years ago. At the beginning, they were moving around and finally they had the Dock des Suds in front of what one calls the historical Dock that burned down in 2005. So them, they, if you want, they developed two large festivals which is La Fiesta des Suds and Babel Med Music which is a World Music market. They were in this space, the historical dock that burned down in 2005. In 2005, it burned down and they had again, they had again another dock […] on the other side of the street, which is the Dock des Suds today. It is about 8000 square metres and still led by an association called Latinissimo. (Interview, 22 January 2015) The history of the Dock des Suds ref lects increased investment in cultural industries from private as well as public investors for the last two decades. The re-building of the Dock des Suds after the fire was made possible by the financial support of various public and private institutions, including the Municipality of Marseille, France Télécom or the company Euroméditerranée (Peraldi 2006, 201). Peraldi and Samson (ibid.) discuss the promotion of cultural industries as part of a (local) politics of promoting ‘local ­capital’ against ‘translocal capital’, the latter mainly associated with Franco-­ Maghrebian entrepreneurs. What becomes apparent are ethnicised biopolitics as urban renewal policies and cultural industries tend to invest into the dominant ‘French’ and ‘multicultural’ community’ in contrast to the ‘Maghrebian community’. In Marseille, urban renewal policies have often been equated with the notion of the ‘reconquest’ (Bertoncello, Rodrigues-Malta, and Dubois 2009, 56ff.).11 Using a term associated with the long-standing war between Christian and Muslim kingdoms on the Iberian Peninsula (718–1492), it evokes century-old racialised dichotomies between the ‘Occident’ and the ‘Orient’, or white ‘Europeans’ versus non-white ‘Arabs’ (see Said 1979). The notion of ‘urban reconquest’ through cultural industries, though not ethnicised but classed, becomes apparent, as the development officer of the Dock des Suds talks about the change of the spatial environment in which the Dock des Suds is located: perhaps we can talk a bit about the location of the Dock, as it is geographically and socially completely in the middle.

I:  So

Communitarisation and Ethnicised Bordering  87 A:  Completely. I:  Can you explain to me a bit… could you elaborate on this? A:  So, what is funny, and if you don’t know, the Dock existed

before this neighbourhood was transformed. For example, I remember, when I came here for the first time to find a job, let’s say, four five years ago, not a long time ago […] it was the end of 2009, I remember very well that when I arrived, I walked around a bit to see how it was in the proximity (…) it was really the end of the world. Really people slept on the street, there was… it was really uh. […] So, the side, this side was still ok, but all this side, it was terrible. Now, I think it is still a bit, it hasn’t been rehabilitated yet, but this neighbourhood is currently under transformation by Euroméditerranée, it is Euromed that transforms all this, at the moment it is mainly an office neighbourhood, which allows us to make noise. […] We don’t know until when we can stay in this neighbourhood. […] Normally we, we have a contract here, we pay directly to Euroméditerranée, we have a contract until, until the end of 2014, so we didn’t know what would happen after, now we know that we have a contract until 2017, theoretically until the end of 2020. Afterwards, what will happen, there are the building firms, there are wishes, a lot of things here. (Interview, 22 January 2015)

The description of the area before and after the renovation echoes gentrification processes. The wording ‘end of the world’ indicates the location of the Dock des Suds in an area considered as periphery. Whilst sitting in the office of the development officer, I had a good overview of the area she was referring to. The area showed the relicts of port-related warehouses, but I could also see the large social housing estates that marked the beginning of the quartiers nord. The Dock des Suds can thus be read as having pushed the border of the ‘cosmopolitan centre’ to an area considered as the city’s ethnicised ‘periphery’. The reference to Euroméditerranée points out the role of cultural industries in smoothening the way for gentrification processes. At the same time, the interviewee addresses the precarious situation of the Dock des Suds itself, as it does not seem to be sure whether it will be able to stay in this area or whether it will be framed as an obstacle to further spatial reconquests in the area, going along with cultural politics as they define which culture shall be promoted, financed and visible in the city (centre). It is in this context that discourses and practices of métissage are articulated. ‘Mixed cultures’ and ‘mixed communities’ In the context of the Dock des Suds and the performance Heza, discourses of ‘mixing’ can be observed with regard to spaces, notions of community and music genres, more concretely represented by the music genre of World Music. From a postcolonial perspective, the notion of World Music ref lects genealogies of discourses of the ‘West against the Rest’ (see Hall 1992), where

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whiteness and music genres associated with it present the ‘normality’ and music genres associated with other parts of the World are marked as the Other. However, it has also been discussed as a genre that performatively inscribes difference into dominant cultural industries and practices (see e.g. Haynes 2005). Since its opening in 1998, the Dock des Suds has mainly become known for two large World Music festivals, La Fiesta des Suds and Babel Med Music Festival. More generally, the musical spectrum offered by the Dock des Suds includes Dub, Electro, Folk, Hip Hop, World Music, Jazz, RnB and Rock (“Agenda” n.d.). However, and as its development officer explains with respect to the location’s name, which literally means ‘Dock of the Souths’: “If you walk through the place you see indeed that there is, it is – well it is a name, we are from the South and we are very oriented towards everything that is music from the South” (Interview, 22 January 2015). The Dock des Suds is presented as a space located in the South – in the South of France – as well as turned towards music of the global South, labelled as World Music, mainly represented by the festival Babel Med Music Festival: “it is a World Music market. So there is a space which is reserved for artists and producers […] three evenings, it is open to the public. […] You will discover I don’t know Australian reggae [laughs], Turkish electronic music” (ibid.). Babel Med Music Festival is presented as a central space for artists to get in contact with producers and vice versa, including Franco-Comorian artists: Ahamada Smis, a slam artist living in Marseille, performed at Babel Med Music Festival (2014) as well as La Fiesta des Suds (2013).12 During my visit at Babel Med Music Festival 2015, I also came across Nawal, a female ­Franco-Comorian artist who focuses on the “afro sufi roots” of Comorian music (“Music” n.d.). What I aim at thinking through is the idea of ­‘ mixing’ implied in the music acts mentioned by the development officer. The ­interviewee refers to ‘Australian reggae’ or ‘Turkish electronic music’ as examples of World Music. It is the ethnicised marker – ‘Australian’ or ‘Turkish’ – which seems to result in the classification of specific music genres – reggae or electronic music – as World Music. Moreover, the emphasis that there is ‘Australian reggae’ or ‘Turkish electronic’ implies that these music genres are not ‘commonly’ played by Australian or Turkish people, hence ­reproducing essentialist discourses on where certain music genres ‘come from’ and who plays them. Such an ethnicisation of music genres from the global South also results in a de-contextualisation of music genres, as critically remarked by the creator of Heza: When one says classical music, one knows where it comes from. But when one says World Music one does not know the roots, so. This is a pity because our music, we know the origins, I know where my music comes from. Before I compose, I always know where it is that I, where I take my inspiration from. (Interview, 29 March 2015)

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The artist’s critique indicates the power of naming, the power to decide which music has a specific name and which music is ascribed to World Music; a power, situated in the global North, and that exercises the right to decide which music has a ‘history’ and which music genres are represented as ‘having no history’ and thus belonging to the undefined and Othered spectrum of World Music. Against this backdrop, the artist re-claims discourses of métissage and creolisation that are present in narratives on Comorian culture (Walker 2010, 15; see Chapter 5 on narratives of ‘origin’ in the context of twarab) and which show similarities to cultural processes in other islands in the Indian Ocean like Mauritius or La Réunion (see Vergès 2015). The artist’s emphasis on the presence of different cultural references in his music also resonates with Mallet’s (2002) analysis of the commercialisation of the popular music genre of tsapiky in Madagascar, which shows that the promotion of local music genres under the label of World Music does not necessarily lead to a de-contextualisation. In line with such developments, the creator of Heza describes his performance as telling the various cultural inf luences inscribed into twarab music, ref lecting processes of ‘mixing’ in terms of creolisation, namely as a process that “requires that heterogeneous elements that are put into contact valorise each other, that there is not degradation or diminishing of being, in contact and mixing” (Glissant 1996, 18): The twarab comes from Egypt, it’s Egyptian classical music with common artists like Umm Kulthum, Farid el Atrache, all these people. Then, the twarab of our colleagues, our cousins from Zanzibar have imported the twarab to Zanzibar. And at that time there were many Comorians in Zanzibar who also brought it to the Comoros. But over the years, through travel and encounters, we realize that in the Comorian twarab there is cha-cha-cha, there is a little bit of Malagasy music, there is African music, from Central Africa. And all that makes the Comorian twarab. And today it is also, it is also played in Marseille. So, I imagined a musical journey where this gentleman who would be called or this lady who would be called Twarab would leave Egypt and would come to meet rhythms all the way to Marseille. (Interview, 29 March 2015) The artist presents twarab as a migrating practice that has travelled from place to place until arriving in Marseille. Moreover, the representation of twarab as a gentleman or lady points out its role as ‘community identity’, as discussed in Chapter 5 and which shows the embeddedness of twarab in cultural, economic and customary practices of the Comorian diaspora. The inscription of twarab into a world music market then ref lects co-optation processes. As Vergès (2015, 42) critically notes, creolisation has been and entails practices of resistance, yet it “runs the risk of becoming bland and acceptable to the world of liberalism”. In a similar manner, Mendjeli and Raibaud (2008, 90) argue that in France the label World Music tends to substitute the cultures

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practiced in a certain space through a logic of spectacle and sensation, which they link to discourses of ‘cultural mixing’. What is at stake is how contextualised processes of cultural exchange are turned into commodities and how such processes work along ethnicised biopolitics, as artists become representatives of ethnicised communities. In this regard, the artist’s emphasis on Latin American inf luences in twarab music can be read as strategically putting the focus on cultural practices that currently fit into the context of World Music. Moreover, twarab performance itself corresponds well with Western performance style in the sense of a separation between musicians and audience, which is not the case with some other Comorian music and dance genres where this strict division is not present (see Damir 2004). The performance was part of the festival Marseille retrouve le Nord (“­Marseille meets the North”), regularly organised by the association Planète Emergence. In contrast to the Dock des Suds, where the focus lies on bringing together artists and producers, this association – as a representative of the association explains – aims at “creating meeting spaces with the collectivities and local cultural actors” (Interview, 14 April 2015). When I ask why they chose the thirteenth and fourteenth arrondissement, the interviewee turns to discourses of ‘diversity’ and ‘mixing’: “The action we put forward is interesting when it is done in zones that are spaces of diversity. So, what we look for is to work in very mixed territories” (ibid.). The respective festival offers another representation of the quartiers nord, namely as a ‘mixed territory’. Cultural policies, as described above, ref lect the larger policy framework of the politiques de la ville (“city policies”), developed since the 1980s in the face of a ‘social crisis’ in the cités (Fassin and Fassin 2009, 6). Also, as a result of the increased inf luence of European funds (Mendjeli and Raibaud 2008, 82), these policies aim at de-centralising cultural politics by fostering local authorities (region, department, province or commune) in the cultural, social and economic domain, especially targeting marginalised neighbourhoods. Central to these policies has been the promotion of ‘mixité sociale’ (‘social mixing’), which also needs to be understood as ethnicised and racialised, given its focus on spaces mainly inhabited by ethnicised population groups (Bouamama 2006, 212). Mendjeli and Raibaud (2008, 83) describe the politiques de la ville as ref lecting a discursive shift in terms of a “real beginning of a separate cultural development of the centres and the ‘ethnicised’ peripheries, terminating a tradition of an equality for all with respect to legitimate cultures” (translation KF). What is at stake is an ethnicised image of French society, with a dominant unmarked community in the centre and ethnicised communities in the periphery. The title of the festival – Marseille retrouve le Nord – ref lects ethnicised centreperiphery relations inscribed into cultural policies, as the ‘North’ is not only marked as the ethnicised Other of Marseille, but also as a space which is not or no longer considered a part of Marseille. The notion of cultural policies as ‘re-integration’ policies of ethnicised and classed Others can be observed. In this regard, the meaning of retrouver le Nord as a counterpart to perdre le nord,

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which means to “to loose one’s mind”, implies an association of the cultural policies as implementing a more ‘rational logic’, which indicates the governing of spaces through policies. This rationality then appears as shaped by imperial and colonial legacies, as the secondary meaning of retrouver means to ‘re-discover’. The spatial location in the park Le Grand Séminaire of the fortified town Saint Joseph points to the spatialised power dynamics inscribed into cultural policies of ‘mixing’. While located in the Northern part of the city, the fort and parc – built in the 17th century – represents the imperial history of Marseille and hosts today the town hall of the thirteenth and fourteenth arrondissement. The fort thus presents the centre in the periphery and, in doing so, ref lects the dominant Marseille community into which ethnicised communities are meant to be ‘re-integrated’ through cultural expression. ‘Mixedness’ becomes the privilege of a dominant white community, ref lecting processes where “the category of whiteness and its privileges are displaced into the category of multiculturalism” (Haritaworn 2012, 4). In this regard, the representative of Planète Emergence emphasises the role of promoting Comorian culture as a central ‘local culture’: “This Comorian culture in Marseille is really important, it is one of the large communities in Marseille, [I wanted] to get to know its history” (Interview, 14 April 2015). The interviewee acknowledges Comorian communities as important population group in Marseille, while the last part implies that Comorian culture is not broadly known. In a similar manner, the creator of Heza also articulates the wish of ‘community representation’ through culture, but addresses a clash of interests he had with the organisers of the festival: To me the aim was simple, but with two objectives. In the first place, I wanted the Comorian community to realise the cultural potential we have. This is what I wanted. And then what I also wanted was that the people of Marseille, the Europeans, also get to know Comorian culture. So it was a pity that we were (…) oriented, we were, we were (…) a bit forced to go to the quartiers nord […] You know a little of Marseille on the level of the underground, it is not easy. So the main evening was at the town hall 13/14, we could present, exhibit things also in the centre-ville. But I think that if we had done all the events in the centre-ville, we would have had more people. […] Besides, the fact that the concert, the important evening was in the quartiers nord, it was only those who were there could go. (Interview, 29 March 2015) The artist felt ‘pushed’ to the quartiers nord. At another point in the interview, he also notes that his performance took place at the same time as another large concert in the city centre. He emphasises that ‘African’ and ‘non-­Comorian friends’ went to the concert in the city centre rather than attending his performance, indicating the ‘Comorian’ connotation of his performance (ibid.). Moreover, he addresses the fact that the Northern districts are difficult to

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reach and that only people who live (t)here came. When I asked about his impression about the performance’s audience, he stated that “there was a mixture, but there were many Comorians” (ibid.). To the artist, the spatial location resulted in a spatial fixing of Comorian culture in the ethnicised and classed periphery. At this point, it is important to note that the performance was also part of another festival, namely ArtsComores – a week of art exhibitions, cultural performances and discussions related to Comorian culture – and which was also an organised cultural event at locations in the city centre (Interview, Creator Heza, 29 March 2015). Furthermore, and in cooperation with Planète Emergence, the theatre play Kara l’épopée comorienne, written by Salim Hatubou, took place at La Friche and hence in a more central location.13 The Franco-Comorian hip-hop artist Soprano, one of France’s currently most famous rappers, performed in the Pavillon M, a temporary building constructed for Marseille-Provence 2013 next to the city hall.14 Despite this various presence of Comorian culture at Marseille-Provence 2013, the critical ref lection from the side of the artist indicates ethnicised centre-periphery relations inscribed into the implementation of Marseille-Provence 2013. In a similar logic, the representative of Planète Emergence explains that their festival “promotes actors, production, initiatives (…) of communities of the quartiers nord, in relation with other communities from outside” (Interview, 14 April 2015), which she frames as an encounter “between the local and the global”. What becomes evident is a dichotomy between ‘community culture’ which is ascribed to an ethnicised group and space, on the one hand, and a “shared culture” (ibid.), they aim at promoting, on the other. This ‘shared culture’ does not seem to be marked by ethnicisation and spatial ascriptions, but rather appears ‘universal’ – it can be created and brought to any space – articulating a dichotomy between a ‘universal space’, that is, the Republic and communitarised spaces, associated with particular ‘local’ cultures and communities (Guénif-Souilamas 2006, 23). In this context, the representative of Planète Emergence ascribes the artist of Heza the role of embodying the encounter between ‘the local and the global’: In fact, he is from Marseille but spent majority of his career somewhere else, in Paris, in Spain, for a long time, a long time he was in Spain, and on top of that he was a bit in the States, so it was important for us to work with somebody who was not from Marseille. Or in fact who was from Marseille, who knows Marseille, who knows it well, but who was not in a daily context in Marseille with all the daily problems of Marseille etc., etc. This was really important. (Interview, 14 April 2015) The artist is presented as a cosmopolitan subject. In this regard, ethnicised ascriptions can be observed as the artist’s music as well as the artist himself becomes a representative of an entire population or a country. Through bridging the local and the global, the artist is positioned as a ‘cultural broker’

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(de Jong  2016). While I discuss the role of Franco-Comorian associations as brokers in the context of the salles de fête as ‘crucial partners’ in terms of economic relations, at this point, I aim at emphasising the symbolic, ­representative role of artists as brokers in terms of mediating between ethnicised spaces: Artists are meant to bring ‘global culture’ to ‘local’ spaces while simultaneously inscribing ‘local cultures’ into a ‘global space’. Artists as brokers – mediated through the music genre of World Music – represent the preferred ‘mixing’: “[T[he ‘good mixes’ represent the ‘cosmopolitan citizen’ of the world and the beautiful ‘mixed race’ face of the multicultural nation” (Haritaworn 2012, 11). Cultural spaces as created in the context of the Dock des Suds or by Planète Emergence then articulate a discourse of France as a “tolerant nation” (ibid., 3), which re-establishes a dichotomy between a ‘universal centre’ and an ethnicised ‘periphery’. It is in this context that ethnicised biopolitics operates, as it is through cultural policies that ethnicised communities and artists representing them are fixed in space. Yet, it is in the face of ethnicised biopolitics that spaces are being communitarised, as Franco-Comorian artists link cultural performances to community history and community-related cultural practices.

A politics of the Self and the Other In this chapter, I analysed spaces of communitarisation with regard to ethnicised bordering, which reveals a postcolonial context marked by a politics of the Self and the Other. Against this backdrop, the ‘mixed community’ is represented and represents itself as the ‘normality’, the cultural centre associated with the Republic and distancing itself from ethnicised communities as its Other. Thus, my analysis emphasised the performativity of ethnicised bordering in terms of a constant reiteration of this Self-Other relation through discourses and practices. Othering processes take place through policies and institutional arrangements and show the intersection of classed, ethnicised and racialised power relations. Consequently, bordering practices are biopolitical as they govern ethnicised population groups by ascribing them to and fixing them in specific spaces of the city. However, it is also at the border that negotiations of identities take place. By communitarising spaces and places, members of Comorian communities contest Othering. Communitarisation takes place by means of the use of spaces, both in the centre and the periphery, through community-related cultural practices and through ascriptions of groups to certain spaces as community spaces. Central to this communitarisation of space is the negotiation of cultural centres, as has become apparent in the context of the salles de fête. Thinking space as performative thus suggests that it is through spatial presence and spatial appropriation that diasporic community is performed and brought into being. In this regard, I discussed forms of subjectivation among Franco-­Comorian actors as community brokers, Franco-Comorian associations in communitarised spaces and Franco-Comorian artists in ‘mixed’ spaces. In both types of

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space, the central role of community brokers shows the importance of ethnicised bordering as a form of governing through ethnicised categorisations, and as a means of self-governing, as it is through ethnicisation that Franco-Comorian actors engage in cultural and economic practices. The analysis thus suggests a relation between space, cultural and economic practices and ethnicised biopolitics, resulting in specific articulations of diasporic community. In the next chapter, I further examine the relation between cultural and economic practices in the context of diaspora, discussing twarab as a diasporic cultural market.

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Notes 1 These are three cultural events: twarab events (see Chapter 5), the talent show Etoiles Rasmi (see Chapter 6), and Heza, le chemin du taarab; and two political mobilisations: the mobilisation of the Collectif des Indignés de la Cité Phocéenne during the municipal elections and the mobilisation around Mohamed Ali ­during the departmental elections (see Chapter 7). 2 All interviews were held in French, were translated by me, and are here p­ resented in an English translation. 3 The quartiers nord can and should not be homogenised with respect to class, ­ethnicity, and race, as they also include bourgeois ‘village cores’ as well as ­m iddle-class residences. These village cores are predominantly white areas, and they have become an important voting resort for the far-right party Rassemblement National (Funes 2014). In the course of the municipal elections of 2014, the by then National Front came to govern one of the largest districts in the quartiers nord, namely the fourteenth and the fifteenth arrondissement. In the course of the municipal elections 2020, the left-green alliance Union à Gauche avec des Écologistes won, headed by Samia Ghali. However, the instrumentalisation of the quartiers nord on the part of the far-right continues. During her campaign for the presidential elections 2022, Marine Le Pen, head of the Rassemblement National, has also targeted the quartiers nord as emblem of the ‘insecurity problem’ in France (“Marine Le Pen à Marseille” 2021). 4 The term navigateur can be read as a form of mimicry (Bhabha 1994), a performative play with the colonial trope of ‘discovery’. The Comorian mariners – who mainly worked under deck in the kitchen – are presented as the ‘pioneers’, as those who arrived in France first, thus framing the metropolitan space as the space of discovery. 5 The concept of the copropriété refers to a juridical form in which a building is divided per lot among different owners, which own private areas of their property and share a percentage of common areas with the other co-owners.

100  Communitarisation and Ethnicised Bordering 6 Operating in Marseille since the beginning of the 1990s, Euroméditerranée presents a “project of national interest” (Bertoncello and Girard 2001, 64) that has focused on the rehabilitation of ‘historical patrimony’, on re-positioning Marseille within the global ranking of cities, and on attracting ‘new population groups’ (ibid., 61ff ). 7 The dramatic events resulted in the creation of a collective, the Collectif du 5 Novembre, which continues to fight for the rights of evicted people in the a­ ftermath of the events (see https://collectif5novembre.org/, last accessed 2 D ­ ecember 2021). The gentrification processes have encountered various forms of resistance. The association Un Centre-Ville pour Tous has played an important role in the ­mobilisation against the renovation at La Rue de la République (see https://­ centrevillepourtous.fr/, last accessed 15 November 2021). Moreover, the gentrification process at La Plaine has resulted in the creation of a large movement, mainly led by the Assemblée de la Plaine, active since 2012 (see Kerste 2018). 8 Noailles was subjected to urban renewal policies focusing on housing improvements in the historical city centre, called OPAH, from 1995–1998, 1999–2002, and 2004–2008, and in 1999, it was part of the program ZPPAUP ‘Chapitre Noailles Canebière Opéra Thiers’, aiming at protecting the architectural, urban, and landscape heritage (Bertoncello, Rodrigues-Malta, and Dubois 2009, 120). 9 See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qwPPRYl0xQE, last accessed 20 ­November 2021. 10 For a more recent engagement, see the album Cosmopolitanie: En Route vers ­l’Everest (2015) by the Franco-Comorian rapper Soprano (see Englert 2021). 11 For a critical discussion of the classed and racialised cultural politics inscribed into Euroméditerranée, see the documentary La fête est finie (2015) by Nicolas Burlaud. 12 See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u9-7ywYnPLQ, last accessed 25 ­November 2021. For more information on Ahamada Smis and his own label Colombe Records, see http://www.colomberecords.com/ahamada-smis-2/, last accessed 2 December 2021. 13 For more information on the theatre performance, see http://cie-lorpheline. com/kara-une-epopee-comorienne/, last accessed 20 November 2021. Salim Hatubou is considered one of the pioneers of Comorian literature written in French language. He died in 2015 leaving a large body of work in the domain of Comorian fables and storytelling and youth and children literature. In honour of his legacy, in Marseille and in Moroni, libraries have been dedicated to his name. In 2017, the Centre de Création Artistique et Culturelle des Comores-Mavuna (Ccac-Mavuna) opened a library space named “Espace Hatubou”. In 2020, the newly founded public media library in the fifteenth arrondissement in Marseille was named after Salim Hatubou, who had been living in Marseille for over 30 years. 14 Franco-Comorian rappers like Soprano, Rhoff or Vincenzo have strongly marked France’s hip-hop scene since the 2000s. Moreover, Comorian hip-hop artists like Cheikh MC regularly perform in France; see also the staging of the performance Massiwa by the choreographer Salim Mzé Hamadi Moissi at the Festival de Danse Cannes 2021.

5 Twarab as a Diasporic Cultural Market

Introduction Twarab is a popular musical practice in Eastern Africa (see Topp Fargion 2014), the Comoros (see Gräbner 2001) and, since the mid-1990s, also amidst the Comorian diaspora in Marseille (Interview, community activist, 12 ­November 2013). It combines inf luences from Egypt, the Arabian Peninsula, India and Europe with East African musical practices (Topp Fargion 2014). Whilst classic twarab is played with violins (called udi), mandolins, accordions, quanus and drums, modern twarab – which is also the twarab genre practiced in Marseille – is performed by a band playing the keyboard, electric bass, drums and electric guitar and accompanying singers that take turns performing. As a musical genre, modern twarab represents a form of popular culture rather than traditional music (see Khamis 2005). However, in academic work on the Comoros and Comorian culture, twarab is predominantly discussed as part of aada na mila (“custom and tradition”) (Blanchy 2010, 242ff.; Damir 2004, 14; Gräbner 2001), a means of conceiving of this practice with which I also became familiar in Marseille. Representations of twarab as ‘tradition’ show how cultural practices can become part of an ‘invention of tradition’ (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983) in diasporic contexts, entailing processes of traditionalisation as well as of re-traditionalisation. The latter is the case with twarab, as it is constantly re-inscribed into discourses and practices of ‘tradition’ and ‘custom’. With Avtar Brah (1996, 231), I understand re-traditionalisation as a performative process depending on the reiteration of ‘cultural difference’ through practices and narratives: “Cultural difference, then, is the moment of reiterative performance that marks historically variable, f luid, internally differentiated, contested and contingent specificities” (ibid.; emphasis in original). With the analysis of Chapter 4 in mind, representations of twarab as ‘tradition’ need to be situated within the postcolonial context of Marseille, where cultural practices of ethnicised communities are associated with ‘traditional cultures’ in contrast to the ‘modern’ and ‘multicultural’ centre. The central question is then how ethnicised identity is brought into being through cultural practices in the context of diaspora (see Hall 1990).

DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665-5

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In Marseille, and more generally in France, twarab events are part of regular fundraising activities organised by Franco-Comorian associations. In debates on migration and diaspora, the use of ethnicised ‘origin’ and ‘community’ as an economic resource has been emphasised, resulting in ‘ethnic’ or ‘migrant entrepreneurship’ (see e.g. Giordano 2013; Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2003; Landa 1994, 2013). Such forms of entrepreneurship go hand in hand with ethnicised biopolitics, as non-white and/or migrant subjects are governed by being interpellated – by state actors, for example – to capitalise on their ‘origin’, which also results in forms of self-governing, as ethnicised communities and subjects mobilise ethnicised origin(s) as a resource (see e.g. Çakır and Fritsch 2021; Kokot, Giordano, and Gandelsman-Trier 2013). As I will demonstrate throughout this chapter, twarab events ref lect the relationship between (cultural) entrepreneurship and ethnicised (self-)governing in the context of postcolonial diaspora. I show that despite its location at Marseille’s spatial and cultural periphery (Chapter 4), twarab is a (central) diasporic cultural market, embedded within cultural, economic and customary power relations shaping and shaped by Comorian communities in Marseille. I hence consider twarab as part of what I refer to as cultural markets in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation, that is, a set of discourses, practices, institutions and subjectivations in the context of Comorian communities (see Chapter 2). I am interested in how Comorian communities are governed and govern themselves through cultural and economic practices, and, conversely, how economic and cultural practices are shaped by discourses, practices and institutions of Comorian communities. In my analysis, I draw on episodic interviews (Flick 2011) with twarab artists (three male, two female) and expert interviews (Bogner, Littig, and Menz 2005) with representatives of twarab associations as well as on participatory observations at twarab events, conducted between October 2013 and May 2015. My research and analysis of twarab stood in close relationship with the documentary Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016), a cooperation project between the artist and actor Mounir Hamada Hamza, the filmmaker Andrés Carvajal and me.1 The documentary not only represents an important secondary resource for this analysis; my own analysis has been strongly inf luenced by the collective research and analysis, especially in terms of tracing histories of twarab through the personal accounts shared by actors involved in Marseille’s twarab scene as well as in terms of placing my focus on twarab as cultural work (see Banks, Gill, and Taylor 2017).2 I start with an analysis of narratives of origins in the context of twarab and then continue by situating twarab in a community-related context in Marseille, characterised by the intersection of culture, economy and custom. I will show that ethnicised (self-)governing processes are embedded within intersectional power relations (see Brah 1996; Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2011). Although communitarisation is especially shaped by the social category of locality, which is strongly related to age classes and ref lects customary norms (see Blanchy 2013b), it intersects with gendered and generational relations.

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I then discuss how forms of subjectivation (Bührmann and Schneider 2008, 69) among twarab artists show a communitarised positionality, as their artistic practices are framed as a ‘community contribution’, differing depending on class and gendered positionalities. Following a perspective of communitarisation as a dispositif (Foucault 1978), I argue that twarab as ethnicised (self-) governing responds to specific ‘urgencies’ (ibid., 120), which have affected Comorian communities in Marseille. On the one hand, representations of twarab as part of ‘community identity’ ref lect the urgent need for an ethnicised identity in postcolonial France (see Blanchard, Bancel, and Lemaire 2005). On the other hand, the need to collect funds indicates economic and social dependencies between ‘village communities’ on the Comoros, more precisely the largest island Ngazidja (see Blanchy 2013b), and the diaspora as well as the importance of creating spaces for artists to perform. As a diasporic cultural market, twarab shows how members of the Comorian diaspora constitute themselves as an ethnicised community through cultural practices, while also being governed and governing themselves within intersectional power relations through communitarisation.

Playing with ‘origins’ Twarab means ecstasies, that is to say taking the public to the point where they lose their reason. (Franco-Comorian artist, 29 March 2015) In his description of twarab as a musical genre, a Franco-Comorian artist who situates himself in the domain of World Music makes reference to the more general use of the word tarab in Arabic music culture in order to describe an emotional state engendered through music and performance (see Racy 2003). This very reference ref lects narratives of origins inscribed into twarab, which I aim at discussing in this section. In his essay “Clash of interests and conceptualization of Taarab in East Africa”,3 Said A. M. Khamis (2005) identifies a clash of interests “between those set to perpetuate the ‘Arab myth’ in Swahili cultural studies and those who want to decry this myth in favour of ‘Africanisation’” (141). With regard to representations of ‘Comorian identity’, similar tensions between ‘Africanness’ and ‘Arabness’ can be observed (Walker 2010, 54ff.). Yet, to Khamis (2005, 141ff.), ascriptions of twarab as either ref lecting ‘Arab’ or ‘African’ identity do not account for a creative and artistic practice that cannot be fixed within a specific ‘cultural heritage’. He emphasises the need to contextualise twarab genres and to analyse processes of “synthesis and syncretism” (ibid., 141). With Stuart Hall (1990, 225), one might frame Khamis’ critique as emphasising a “play of culture” inscribed in the practice of twarab: I use the word ‘play’ because the double meaning of the metaphor is important. It suggests, on the one hand, the instability, the permanent

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unsettlement, the lack of any final resolution. On the other hand, it reminds us that the place where this ‘doubleness’ is most powerfully to be heard is ‘playing’ within the varieties of Caribbean music. (Ibid., 228) Hall (ibid., 227f.) emphasises that whilst certain spaces share similar histories, the articulation of cultural identities might be different, given the play of culture and the practices of translation of these very histories. The play of culture is thus always linked to a play of history and power (ibid., 225). I will show how narratives of twarab’s origins, as expressed in interviews with actors involved in twarab in Marseille, ref lect histories of imperialism and colonialism that have marked the history of the Comoros as well as the racialised, ethnicised and classed (cultural) politics that accompany these histories on the one hand, and the role of artistic practices in ‘playing with’ different cultural inf luences on the other. I will end this section by showing how twarab has been ethnicised, that is, how it has become part of customary practices in the context of the Comoros (see Blanchy 2010). I hence understand narratives of origins as a form of ethnicised biopolitics, as cultural practices become representative of populations and/or population groups in a diasporic context. In interviews with artists, narratives of origins of twarab go along with spatial references, as becomes apparent in the following extract of an interview with a folk artist who was also the head of a twarab group at the time of the research: When I speak of twarab, it means Arab music. But now back home there is twarab, but also Swahili music, that comes from Zanzibar and Tanzania. Now what we play is music from Tanzania. […] In some way, it is a variation of twarab, because even the Tanzanians play twarab in their own way. So, we have changed the rhythms a bit, especially on the level of the melody. (Interview, 18 March 2015) According to the artist’s account, twarab music on the Comoros was first inspired by what he refers to as ‘Arab music’, while he describes contemporary forms of twarab as part of ‘Swahili music’. The quote represents the common sense, when it comes to histories of twarab music in Eastern Africa and the Comoros: The origin of twarab is said to be located in the Arabian Peninsula and Egypt, and from ‘there’, it is said to have come to Eastern Africa, especially Zanzibar, and the Comoros. It is a narrative that I encountered various times during my research, and which is also often referred to in the earlier cited existing body of work on twarab in different African contexts (for the Comorian context, see Gräbner 2001). Northern Africa and Eastern Africa as central spaces of reference become even more apparent in another artist’s ref lection on musical references in twarab music. The artist used to be part of the musical group Ninga des Comores on the Comoros – a group that played different music genres such as

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reggae, blues, zouk (popular music genre developed in the French Antilles) but also twarab and that was one of the first groups to travel to France in the 1990s. When elaborating on musical references in twarab music, he expresses processes of ‘mixing’: “Twarab is a mélange of Arab music and music from Tanzania and Kenya. […] We have mixed up the two and in all, we call it twarab” (Interview, 18 February 2015). As the artist suggests, twarab music can be understood as a fusion of ‘Arab music’ and ‘Tanzanian and Kenyan music’. The French word mélange as well as the English translation ‘mixture’ or ‘mixing’ indicate an underlying notion of two separate cultural entities – ‘Arab music’ and ‘Tanzanian and Kenyan music’ – which have been combined to form Comorian twarab. However, the ‘mixing’ is not presented as some form of natural process; rather the musician’s emphasis on ‘we’ indicates the artist’s agency in creating and re-creating music genres in the face of different cultural inf luences, which ref lects the earlier mentioned ‘play of culture’ inscribed in the concrete practice of playing music. The artist’s description of twarab music as mélange points out more general ascriptions and self-descriptions of the Comoros as a space of métissage or mélange (see Walker 2010, 15ff.). The political and cultural history of the Comoros has been shaped by unequal cultural encounters between Bantu-speaking seafarers, enslaved Africans, Swahili Shirazi settlers and European colonialists and thus ref lects hybridisation (Hall 1990) and/or creolisation processes (Glissant 1981; for a detailed history of the Comoros, see Walker 2019). As the artist mentioned above elaborates on the term ‘twarab’, he links it to its ‘Arab origins’: “It comes from Arab countries. This is why we call it twarab” (Interview, 18 February 2015). The power of naming ref lects a play of power that has shaped cultural politics on the Comoros: Arab-­connoted culture has been considered as ‘more elevated’ than African-connoted culture (Blanchy 2010, 13). Between the 13th and the 15th century, families of Swahili Muslim lineages, ruling on the East African Coast and identifying as ‘Shirazi’,4 settled on the Comoros, as they had to leave the coast due to political conf licts (Blanchy 2004, para. 9). The settlement had great impacts on cultural politics, resulting in an ‘Arabisation’ of the ruling class in terms of adaptation of Arab names and clothing connoted as ‘Arab’ among Comorian rulers (ibid.), and which continue to shape the style of dresses today associated with the Great Marriage (Walker 2010, 76). The gaining inf luence of the Omani Empire on the East African coast from the 17th century on further fostered the dominance of Arab-connoted culture on the Comoros. With respect to the colonised Comoros at the beginning of the 20th century, Ibrahime (1997, 85) refers to “Comorians from Arab families as the central ‘enemy of the coloniser’” (translation K.F.), indicating the powerful positionality of families positioned as ‘Arab’ under French colonial rule as well as the mobilisation of Arab identity – often in association with a Muslim identity – as a counter-identity to French colonialists (Walker 2010, 201). The racialisation of class relations on the Comoros further ref lects its history in the trade of enslaved people, constitutive to the political economy of

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the East African region and the Western Indian Ocean from the 16th to the 18th century (Blanchy 2013a). The Comoros were a central ‘intermediate space’ of the trade in enslaved people in the Indian Ocean, facilitating the transportation of enslaved Black people from different African regions, especially Madagascar, to the Swahili, Omani Arabs and the Portuguese. Yet, enslaved Black people were also an integral part of the Comorian economy until the abolition of slavery, which was effected with the colonisation by France in the mid-19th century (Blanchy 2013a, 374ff.; Walker 2010, 75). European colonialism played a contradictory role in the official abolition of systems of enslavement of Black people. On the one hand, European abolitionists promoted different politics to abolish the enslavement. On the other hand, the emerging plantations resulted in an increased demand for ‘unfree labour’. This demand for labour replaced enslaved labour with ‘engaged labour’, which hardly changed the social status of workers, who had been enslaved before (Blanchy 2013a, 386). It is against the backdrop of the enslavement of Black people, imperial relations related to the Omani Empire, the dominance of Shirazi Swahili culture and French colonisation that Comorians were integrated into and have considered themselves as part of the ‘Swahili world’ (Walker 2010, 67). Twarab then ref lects what Werner Gräbner (2001, 133) refers to as a “closeness in feeling” between Zanzibar – as a main reference for Swahili culture – and the Comoros, which he ascribes to “regular commercial and cultural contact”. During the 19th and 20th century, both Zanzibar and the Comoros were governed by Sultanates, facilitating the mobility between the two places (Toibibou 2006, 137). Against this backdrop, migration occurred in the domain of labour migration, but also for means of religious education and political reasons, as people f led the wars between different kingdoms on the archipelago (Blanchy 1998, 10). Until the 1960s and 1970s, Zanzibar and Madagascar continued to be central destinations for migration from the Comoros; it decreased, however, during the postcolonial period due to nationalist politics (Barbey 2009, 159f.). In the face of migratory histories, the World Music artist cited at the beginning of this section addresses the role of Comorian artists getting to know twarab music in Zanzibar. In his performance Heza, le chemin du taarab (“Sing, the journey of taarab”), presented during Marseille’s status as Capital of Culture in 2013 (see Chapter 4 on a more detailed discussion), he tells the story of twarab music on the Comoros: There is this music called twarab that comes from Egypt, it is a music that started in Egypt and then arrived in Zanzibar and from Zanzibar it arrived here on the Comoros. At that time, there were many Comorians in Zanzibar who also brought it to the Comoros. And today this music is the one that is most played by the Comorian community. To me, it was important and artistically interesting to tell this work, this journey of twarab, this means the musical travelling that this music has undertaken until arriving in Marseille. (Interview, 29 March 2015)

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Twarab is presented as a travelling music, a migrating music with artists as its main agents. In his analysis of twarab on Ngazidja, Gräbner (2001, 129ff.) also emphasises the role of Comorian artists living or visiting Zanzibar in promoting twarab on Ngazidja at the beginning of the 20th century. As he outlines the trajectories of different artists, he presents the emergence of twarab music on Ngazidja as a history of artistic mobility and cultural contactzones, referring to Mohamed Hassan who introduced the udi into classic twarab on the Comoros or Mohamed Ali Mgongo who in the 1940s joined the famous twarab group Al-Watan Musical Club in Dar es Salaam as a violin player (ibid.). In the documentary Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016), Salim Ahamada Kalé, a community activist, contests the narrative that twarab was ‘imported’ from Zanzibar. According to him, twarab music already existed on Ngazidja but was shaped by what he terms the “inf luence of Zanzibarian music” (ibid., min 00:12:56) back in the 1940s. Yet, he also underlines the role of Comorians who had lived in Zanzibar in promoting Zanzibar twarab in the regions of Ngazidja from where they came from (ibid., min 00:12:45–00:13:50). With Gilroy (1993, 112), one might say that narratives of origins of twarab ref lect discourses of ‘roots’ – in terms of spatial and cultural references – but also of routes, as culture is presented as on the way, travelling or migrating from one place to the other. Moreover, and as the biographies of the cited artists indicate, the roots are shaped by locality in terms of ref lecting the villages or regions the artists grew up or were living before migrating, while gender shapes the routes in terms of male artistic mobility. With regard to the mid-19th century, the creator of the musical performance Heza, le chemin du taarab addresses another context, namely French colonialism, in shaping twarab music on the Comoros: This means, when twarab arrived on the Comoros, we were in the ­m iddle of… it was the colonial period. So the colonisers were there and what did they do? They played in their salons or in their parties at the weekend. […] They played and danced to Latin rhythms, like the tango, the chacha-cha, the passo-doble, rock, and the parents who were employed by those people heard this sound and integrated it in their music, you see? (Interview, 29 March 2015) The coloniser’s upper-class cultural practice of organising dance events is presented as a space of cultural encounters, as Comorian employees got into contact with different music genres, including Latin rhythms, but also ‘Western’ music genres like Rock music. According to the artist, these music genres inf luenced the musical practices of the Comorian employees. As I explain in Chapter 4, the artist’s emphasis on Latin American inf luences must be read against the backdrop of music trends and the attractivity of such music genres to a Western public. However, what also becomes apparent is what can be described as a South-South alliance – between South and Middle America and the Comoros – mediated through a colonial space, namely the coloniser’s

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house. Whilst South and Central America had already been formally decolonised by that time, the artist’s description of Latin American rhythms as “rhythms of our cousins of Central America” indicates feelings of solidarity with other formerly colonised regions and their musical practices, which the artist connects with the practice of twarab.5 The play with difference inscribed into narratives of twarab’s origins so far shows how contemporary articulations of Comorian identity ref lect imperial and colonial contact zones which, as Vergès (2015, 44) argues, result in situations where “practices of ethnic differentiation and desire to maintain or reinvent one’s own ‘tradition’ can coexist alongside creolization”. It is particularly on Ngazidja that twarab has become a popular cultural practice. In his analysis of the social functions of twarab on Ngazidja, Gräbner (2001) draws on a personal communication with the anthropologist Damir Ben Ali, who explains that twarab on Ngazidja took up the social-critical function of sambe songs, a prominent feature of Ngazidja’s most famous ngoma […]; or of the debe, a female song form very popular among women and youth, but much criticised by the local notability and colonial administration alike. (Ben Ali, cited in Gräbner 2001, 141; emphasis in original). A framing of twarab as counterculture or popular culture can be observed, which also tends to criticise the political establishment and societal structures. As the lyrics of twarab songs in different African contexts indicate, they include classic popular themes like love, but also engage with political and societal issues (Khamis 2001). According to Khamis (2005, 140), twarab music can be both “elitist and populist”. It is in the 1960s and hence the phase of independence movements that twarab music becomes associated with ‘tradition’, ‘custom’ and political establishment on the Comoros. According to Gräbner (2001, 134f.), the shift from using Kiswahili or Arab languages to performing in Shingazidja was strongly linked to Said Mohamed Cheikh, a leading political figure in independence politics, representing ‘traditionalist’ or conservative politics. Furthermore, the association with ‘tradition’ is the result of its integration into customary wedding festivities of the Great Marriage (Grand Mariage), at about the same time. Such associations become even more obvious, as during Ali Sohili’s brief socialist government (1976–1978), twarab music was subjected to intense pressure as it was seen to represent an ‘Arab upper class’ and ‘custom’ (ibid., 140f.). Twarab thus ref lects the interplay of customary power relations and histories of domination of Arab-connoted culture in Comorian societies.6 The customary system of aada na mila presents a system of age classes and matrilinearity, explained later on and associated with Bantu-speaking societies (Walker 2010, 47f.). However, Islamicisation has had its effects on customary practices so that Great Marriage festivities entail secular events – like twarab – and religious events (Blanchy 2010, 139ff.).7 Twarab as a representative of secular events

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within the context of the Great Marriage then ref lects the complementary and sometimes conf licting relation of religion that is Islam and custom in shaping Grand-Comorian identity (Walker 2010, 58). Many interviewed artists emphasised the role of marriage festivities as an ongoing source of income and space for artists to perform on the Comoros, which indicates Great Marriage festivities as cultural markets in their own right (Walker 2002, 58). However, a representative of the twarab association Ngoma des Îles (“Music from the Islands”) also explains: “Before, we used to play twarab only for weddings, but later we did twarab as business…” (Interview, 18 February 2015). The artist describes the emergence of twarab as a commercialised market independent from weddings since the 1960s and 1970s on the Comoros (Gräbner 2001, 141); a process that ref lects the electrification of twarab since the 1960s and that is part of similar modernisation and commodification processes of traditional music genres in African contexts (see e.g. Mallet 2002 on the Malagasy context). In the context of twarab, it is Salim Ali Amir who has been an important figure in promoting modern twarab (“Salim Ali Amir” n.d.). For a long time, the Radio des Comores (Radio of the Comoros), which later became the Office de Radio et Télévision des Comores (National Radio and Television Channel of the Comoros; ORTC) used to be the only space where artists could record their songs (Interview, Representative of Ngoma des Îles, 18 February 2015). In 1989, the first recording studio, Studio 1, was founded, with Salim Ali Amir as co-founder. A former member of the musical group Ninga des Comores (“Pigeon of the Comoros”) and now representative of a twarab association in Marseille explains that the foundation of the Studio 1 dynamised the music production on the Comoros, as “with the Studio 1 all the small villages started to record their music at the Studio 1. This is the moment when Comorian music started to have some grandeur” (Interview, 18 February 2015). With respect to the end of the 1990s, Gräbner (2001, 141) argues that twarab no longer plays such an important role as entertainment music at weddings on the Comoros in urban areas, but that it has remained important in rural areas. In a similar way, the earlier cited folk artist argues that the popularity of twarab at community-related events in Marseille is due to the fact that most of the people who migrated from the Comoros are from rural areas (Interview, 18 March 2015). What becomes apparent is the association of twarab music with ‘rural people’, which is also implicated in discourses of ‘modernity’ and ‘tradition’, and which can also be observed in representations of twarab in the context of Marseille.

The intersection of culture, economy and custom Given the hitherto analysis, twarab can be understood as a hybrid cultural practice, but also as a practice shaped by re-traditionalisation processes, given its association with ‘Comorian custom’. In this section, I will show how twarab has been re-traditionalised in a context of diaspora, as the musical

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practice has been re-integrated into discourses and practices of custom and tradition, especially on the part of Franco-Comorian associations. Such re-traditionalisation processes indicate the performativity of custom and tradition (Brah 1996, 231) as well as the relation between customary, cultural and economic practices. According to Vivier (2000, 85), in the 1990s, about 85% of Franco-­Comorian associations were related to Ngazidja, which is the case up until today. As outlined by a community activist, in the mid-1990s, the activities organised by these associations were in large part dance parties: “At that time there were only dancing parties. To state it more precisely, these dancing parties pursued the ­objective of contributing to the funding of diverse and various development projects in the village” (Interview, 19 April 2015; emphasis in original; interview was conducted in written form). The activist addresses the role of Franco-Comorian associations in collecting funds for (infrastructural) projects on the Comoros. Moreover, he explains that the dancing events were dominated by music and dance genres from the Congo, from Zaire and from the Ivory Coast (ibid.). He then notes that “there was a need to fix this” (ibid.), thus positing a relation between the cultural identity as a diasporic community and musical practices. The community activist addresses what Gilroy describes as the role of music as a signifying practice to ethnicised identity in a context of Black diaspora: Where music is thought to be emblematic and constitutive of racial difference rather than just associated with it, how is music used to specify general issues pertaining to the problem of racial authenticity and the consequent self-identity of the ethnic group? (Gilroy 1993, 76) The activist’s account situates the question of music as constitutive for the self-identity as ethnicised group in a context of Marseille in the 1990s and the lack of Comorian culture. He then mentions the organisation of the tour of the musical group N’gaya in the mid-1990s, headed by the earlier-mentioned twarab artist Salim Ali Amir, as a “trigger element” in the emergence of twarab music in France: “The beginning of twarab (in Marseille) on a broad scale, dates back to May 1996, due to the initiative of three persons (of which I was one)” (Interview, 19 April 2015; emphasis in original).8 The tour involved seven concerts in five cities in France – Marseille, Aix-en-Provence, Dunkerque, Lyon and Paris – that showed strong presence of Comorian communities at that time. The objective of the tour was to promote Comorian music in France, where it was “absent” and “ignored” in the mid-1990s (ibid.). In order to promote Comorian music in a broader cultural market, a concert was organised at the Espace Julien, located on the Cours Julien in the sixth arrondissement and which continues to represent a central show venue in Marseille’s dominant ‘multicultural centre’. Besides the absence of Comorian culture in Marseille’s cultural industry in the mid-1990s, he also underlines that there was an “immense necessity to let the children (in France) discover Comorian music, and through music,

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culture, education” (ibid.). The co-organiser refers to music as a medium of education and culture indicating its role in transmitting knowledge in a context of diaspora (Gilroy 1993, 76). What the interviewee seems to be further addressing is the role of music in engendering notions of a ‘united Comorian diaspora’, bridging multiple generations. This becomes evident as the co-­ organiser continues: “We thought of using this medium [music] as a vector to bring all closer to culture in general, and particular to its music. Break the wall, which has been built between the diaspora and its musical identity” (Interview, 19 April 2015). The co-organiser’s framing indicates a relation between music and ethnicised identity, as the wall can be interpreted as ref lecting experiences of migration and diaspora, through which different generations of the Comorian diaspora have been set apart from their ‘cultural identity’. Twarab is ascribed the role of re-creating this separation, which shows the performative character of cultural practices in (re-)creating community identity. In this regard, the choice of N’gaya ref lects specific articulations of Comorian identity. The co-organiser of the tour notes that their choice of band was because of the fact that the group represented a “national image” (ibid.). The decision to present twarab as ‘national culture’ – instead of presenting other Comorian musical genres like shigoma (see Damir 2004 for a discussion of Comorian music and dance styles) – ref lects the earlier-discussed ongoing dominance of Arab-connoted culture in contrast to African-connoted Comorian culture. The ‘chain reaction’ of Franco-Comorian associations continuing to organise twarab events then further points to the role of customary power relations (aada na mila) shaping the mdji (“city”) as a social and spatial entity (see Blanchy 2004).9 Aada na mila can be understood as a customary biopolitical governing system, regulating population groups along age classes and matrilinearity. Central to this social system is the social institution of the Great Marriage, a customary form of marriage that takes place after a civil or religious wedding. It allows men to be integrated into the political class of a locality where he represents his matrilineal descent; to women it means the transfer of property from the mother to the daughter, which results in a societal system structured along gendered age classes: The age system is made of two generational sets, Sons of the City (wanamdji) and Fathers (wandru wababa), and of grades of age and status that follow various patterns. Through Great Marriage, men leave the Sons category and obtain the right to sit on the assembly of Fathers, also called Accomplished Men (wandru wadzima): political fathering is thus linked to wedding festivities. The idea of accomplishment in the title of mdzima (complete, one) is an ideal to be achieved in a man’s lifetime. In the same way, a woman obtains the status of mother of âda through two successive Great Marriages, her own and her daughter’s, making the temporal process of this achievement very explicit. Two key events occur simultaneously in Great Marriage: the husband becomes a political father and the house is transmitted from mother to daughter. (Ibid., 572)

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The system of age classes ref lects the intersection of locality, social status, ­generation and gender. While aada na mila can be found on all islands of the archipelago, it has become dominant on Ngazidja. As Walker (2010, 175) shows with regard to the colonial history on Ngazidja, aada na mila and the subject position of the notables was strengthened from the side of the French colonial administration by implementing ‘elder councils’ in localities and which resulted in an opening of access to power to all men, not only the eldest son. This promotion of aada was then used from the side of men in local communities on Ngazidja in order to improve their social position towards the royal elite (ibid.). It is through performing ‘custom’ that collaboration with French colonial authorities was practised. Up to present, ­accomplishing the Great Marriage allows for the social mobility of families and villages which also affects members of these communities living in the diaspora (Blanchy 2004). Comorians from Ngazidja have hence benefited from the unequal development between the islands, as they have migrated much more, which has also resulted in fostering the role of migration in financing the Great Marriage (Walker 2002, 164f.). While the Great Marriage can only be accomplished on the Comoros, it is cultural and religious practices related to the Great Marriage that continue to shape community-related events (Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002, 135; Fritsch 2019, 114f.).10 A representative of the twarab association Ngoma des Îles links the popularity of twarab music in a context of diaspora to its role in wedding festivities: It is our identity. Ah that’s for sure, it is our identity. You cannot replace twarab, even if there are artists who play zouk, there has been a revolution for about five years, there is a revolution among the youth, they play zouk. This is not Comorian. They play zouk, they play rap, this is not Comorian. They play zumba. […] The twarab is irreplaceable. It is not possible for someone to celebrate his Great Marriage and on Saturday one plays zumba [slight laugh], that’s not possible. There needs to be a twarab. It is possible that there will be a revolution, but I think well (…) this is, there will always be twarab. (Interview, 6 February 2015) The quote articulates twarab as a central marker of Comorian identity, whereas other music genres like zouk, rap or Zumba are referred to as ‘non-­ Comorian’ which he further associates with younger generations, both on the Comoros as well as in France. Twarab as an expression of Comorian identity is associated with older generations and linked to customary wedding practices. While the Great Marriage can only be conducted on the Comoros, it is the relation between the Great Marriage and twarab events on Ngazidja that is stated as the central signifier of twarab as a marker of Comorian identity. As outlined earlier, Great Marriage festivities entail religious and secular cultural events, with twarab as a central secular event, open to both genders, and the madjlisse as its religious ‘counter-part’, reserved for men and

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encompassing chants and the playing of tambourins (Blanchy 2010, 140, 307). The complementary relation between twarab and madjlisse as constitutive practices of community identity becomes apparent in the following longer extract of an interview with a representative of the Association ANIF (Ngomé d’Itsandra en France), a Franco-Comorian association related to the municipality of Itsandra on Ngazidja: The only mode of collecting funds that existed at that time were dancing parties […] And at these dancing parties there were two things (…) that didn’t work in my opinion. Firstly, it was very hard for a person of a village, it was extremely hard because one needed to prepare the venue, cook (…) so it was very time-consuming […] Secondly, there was the fact that we didn’t acknowledge the fact that we have a Muslim culture and everything that was done at these dancing parties wasn’t necessarily in accordance with the Muslim religion. Alcohol is forbidden. In order to earn money, people sold alcohol. […] So, it was something that was tiring on the one hand and illicit on the level of religion and it was also not really what we wanted […] So we had to find another way. There were some people to think about it, at the beginning we were three and we told ourselves that we needed to do a madjlisse. You must know that when I was on the Comoros, me and my brother, we had a madjlisse group and our colleague he also had a madjlisse group. When we came here, in the neighbourhoods there were shionis, the Qur’an school. The children are taught to read the Qur’an and at the same time they are taught the kassuda, the songs as you have them here [refers to the madjlisse where we conducted the interview]. So we told ourselves: What can we do? […] Why not do collectively, what everyone does separately? […] So we organised a madjlisse, we called all the villages of the whole region to participate, this was a premiere. And from that moment on, the madjlisse spread out. […] And today every village of Grande Comore, the other islands do it less, every village has constructed something thanks to the madjlisse, be it a street, a mosque. (Interview, 20 October 2013) Similar to the earlier-mentioned tour organiser of the musical group N’gaya, the association’s representative also refers to dancing events as the primary mode of collecting funds among Franco-Comorian associations in the 1980s and 1990s. Yet, his concern at that time was not the ‘lack of Comorian music’, instead he and his colleagues were preoccupied by the missing ‘Muslim culture’. In this regard, the madjlisse, during which I conducted the interview, showed the renegotiation of gendered customary relations: While on the Comoros the madjlisse is an event reserved for men, I was sitting together with other women in a separate room next to the main event hall with a live screen so that we could participate and contribute financially to the event (Ethnographic protocol, madjlisse, 20 October 2013). While the opening of madjlisse

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events to women is related to economic reasons (Blanchy 2011, 285), the interview partner also expresses communitarisation processes through religion, as he emphasises that it was about practising religion collectively. The organisation of the madjlisse hence also ref lects the wish to create collective spaces of practising religious membership in a context of diaspora. As the interview partner then explains, they implemented collective modes of collecting funds in order to lighten the individual burden of what Zakaria (2000, 79) has termed as “migration with a mission” (translation K.F.), and which ascribes Comorian migrants and members of the diaspora a (central) role in contributing to ‘their villages’. The reorganisation of madjlisses as a fundraising activity in a context of diaspora points out practices of ‘religious entrepreneurship’ in the context of Muslim communities in Marseille (Geisser 2009, para. 22). The context of madjlisse events further shows how such forms of religious entrepreneurship are embedded within North-South relations and economic dependencies of communities on the Comoros from Comorian communities living in the diaspora. The Union of the Comoros counts among those Sub-Saharan African countries which depend most on remittances sent by members of the diaspora. In 2019, remittances comprised up to 17.3% of the Union’s GNP (International Monetary Fund 2020) and the inf lux of remittances has remained high despite the Covid-19 pandemic (15% in 2020; International Monetary Fund 2021) and the temporary suspension of public events due to Covid-19 regulations. This continuity of remittances shows the high engagement from the side of members of the Comorian diaspora despite the economic and social shortages they experienced as ethnicised population groups in France and which also reveals the dependency of the state’s coping with the crisis – both France and the Union of the Comoros – on informal(ised) networks of care (Maud 2020, 10). In this regard, a representative of the twarab association Ngoma des Îles frames community-related events as part of the ‘development’ of the Comoros: Twarab, this is a system that we have created as the Comorian government does nothing for our cities. We have made this system of contribution, this contribution works like that. Today we organise an evening with my village; we invite all communities to contribute to the development of our cities with a ticket of 10 euros. Be it schools, be it the provision of water, of soil, of markets, of streets, so that we can develop. We have come to the point that twarab is the only solution so that we can develop the country. (Interview, 18 February 2015) The Comorian diaspora is presented as a ‘development actor’, indicating its role as a transnational actor in terms of economic engagement (see e.g. Faist 2008; Glick-Schiller 2009). In line with other Western development policies, French development policies have also targeted the economic practices of diasporas by promoting their ‘integration’ into development programs (see

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e.g. Weinar 2010). These forms of ‘diaspora engagement’ are present in the framework of co-développement (Sinatti and Horst 2015, 138), which also exists in the context of the Comoros in form of the Programme Franco-Comorien de Codéveloppement (Blanchy 2010, 218). As Sinatti and Horst (2015, 140) have argued, current discourses on the role of a diasporic group as a ‘development actor’ reproduce ethnicising and racialising assumptions, implying naturalised relations between a certain group of people in one place and a specific city, region or nation; notions that also often shape academic perspectives on migration and development. What becomes apparent are articulations of ethnicised biopolitics in a diasporic context, as groups of people are mobilised across national boundaries based on the assumption of a ‘shared’ ethnicised or racialised ‘origin’. Community-related events express ethnicised biopolitics by mobilising ethnicised community along locality (Fritsch 2019, 114). In the quote cited above, the representative of Ngoma des Îles refers to twarab as a ‘system of contribution’. The notion of contribution ref lects the customary-related principle of ‘commensality’ between groups of people whose membership is based on locality and that follows the social category of age classes (Blanchy 2004, 278). In order to be acknowledged by one’s group of reference and other localities, one has to support his_her community in form of practices of solidarity and loyalty, both in material and social terms, and which reveals the political character of customary relations (ibid., 278). Central to this form of solidarity and loyalty is the principle of the ‘tontine’: It is like a form of tontine, of contribution. Today I displace myself, because there is a colleague of mine who invited me, as he organises a twarab for his village, for his city, so I go. So one comes either as a village, neighbour or not neighbour, or as an individual, but today I go, I write on my envelope “50 Euros, […] [person x]”. He will take notice “so […] [person x] that day 50 Euros for me”. So the day I will organise mine… (Interview, Representative of Ngoma des Îles, 6 February 2015) As outlined in the quote, in twarab events family members, people who identify or are identified with a certain locality on the Comoros as well as friends are mobilised based on the idea of reciprocal contribution, characterised by the interplay of economic and symbolic, that is, discursive, exchange logics. In this respect, the so-called billets d’honneurs (“tickets of honour”) are distributed, encouraging people to come and contribute, either by paying the entrance fee or by bringing an envelope containing a certain amount of money, as described above in the interview passage. Twarab events therefore ref lect the relation between ethnicisation, economic practices and hybrid cultural practices and spaces created in a context of diaspora self-organisation (Mitchell 1997, 258). Twarab events also underline the role of community-related spaces in terms of mutual support (Belorgey et al. 2005, 68f.), in the context

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of Comorian communities in Marseille and between the latter and communities on the Comoros. As outlined by Ahmad (2019, 295ff.) in the context of Comorian female entrepreneurs, this form of communitarisation through exchange also results in unfair practices and tension, which shows the role of governing and self-governing through symbolic and economic exchange logics in the context of Comorian communities. As I show in the next sections, communitarisation through the interplay of culture and economy in the context of twarab also works along gendered and generational relations. Gendered relations and spaces As a community activist explains, twarab events are always organised t­ogether with wadaha events: “At every twarab concert in France, in the ­afternoon ­before the night concert, we inevitably organise a female cultural dance which is called wadaha, which women practice by dancing in a circle around a masher installed before” (Interview, 19 April 2015). The mother of a contestant in the talent show Etoiles Rasmi (discussed in Chapter 6) frames the presence of wadaha on the Comoros as ref lecting ‘her-stories’ of migration of Comorian women from Madagascar to the Comoros: So, the music, the music, where does it come from? The music of wadaha comes from Madagascar. Normally it started there, the wadaha, normally it did not exist on the Comoros. It was people who were in Madagascar who have brought it to the Comoros. And on Mayotte also, there is also the wadaha, it always comes from the Malagasys. It comes from Madagascar, but before on the Comoros we did not know this… it wasn’t really a dance on the Comoros. (Interview, 4 April 2015) The interviewee’s depiction of the history of wadaha addresses the history of the Sabénas, Comorians living in Madagascar who were forced to move to the Comoros in the mid-1970s in the face of brutal nationalist and racist attacks on Comorian populations, in the locality of Majunga, where Comorians had lived for decades. The racist attacks went along with the burning of houses and the killing of more than 1,000 Comorians. Due to these brutal events, the Madagascan as well as the Comorian government decided to ‘repatriate’ Comorians from Mahajanga but also other parts of Madagascar to the Comoros, resulting in the repatriation of about 10,000 Comorians (Barbey 2009, 159). The name of the company, Sabéna, has become the designating term for the people who were forced to leave (Barbey 2009, 156). It is in the course of this forced migration from Madagascar to the Comoros that wadaha is said to have become a popular women-only dancing practice on the Comoros (Damir 2004, 61). However, and as historical archives from the late 19th ­century show, wadaha was danced in Comoros before migration to Madagascar, more specifically in the rural areas of all islands and in towns of

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Ngazidja only by servant and enslaved women who actually did the pounding (Blanchy 2007). Wadaha thus also represents a hybrid cultural practice, but in contrast to twarab, it ref lects genealogies of enslavement, gender, work and migration. During my research, I usually heard the framing of wadaha as related to the Sabénas, a dominant framing which can be interpreted as showing the lack of thematisation of the history of enslavement and servanthood in Comorian history (see Blanchy 2013a). In contrast to twarab, wadaha is practiced on all four Comorian islands. In an interview with the community activist mentioned earlier, he refers to wadaha as “a dance, which is very appreciated in the Comorian community and well mastered by Comorians from the islands of Anjouan and Mayotte (more than by those of Ngazidja)” (Interview, 19 April 2015). However, with regard to the joined organisation of twarab and wadaha events, re-traditionalisation processes can be observed as the representative of Ngoma des Îles presents the combination of events as linked to wedding festivities: “There is the wadaha, which is a music one makes when there is a wedding. Now we do it when there is a twarab” (Interview, 6 February 2015). The way he presents the relation between twarab and wadaha as linked to the Great Marriage ref lects dominant practices of Grand-Comorian culture and how wadaha events have also been integrated into it. In this context, wadaha is presented as a practice that depends on twarab events, therefore ascribing wadaha events a secondary status: It [the wadaha] is like the entry, when one eats something, a dish, there is the entry, afterwards there is the […] the dish, so at home it is like that, when there is a manifestation […] when one talks about the twarab, one starts, well, it is natural somehow, it is something which has been done for a long time now, one starts in the afternoon with a wadaha. (Ibid.) To the representative of Ngoma des Îles, the link between twarab and wadaha is ‘natural’, a joined performance that has always been an integral part of festivities on the Comoros. What strikes me in his narrative is that he makes an analogy between the two practices and the sequence of a multicourse meal. I read this analogy of wadaha as the entrée and of twarab as the ‘main course’ as ref lecting naturalised unequal gendered orders, as the women-only wadaha events are framed as the ‘supporting act’ and hence not seen as equally ­valuable as twarab concerts, which are depicted as the ‘main act’, open to both genders. Moreover, the analogy between ‘eating’, ‘dancing’ and ‘singing’ evokes notions of ‘consuming’, indicating a (hetero-)sexualised relation between wadaha and twarab. Twarab – the event open to all genders – is presented as primary space of diasporic community, as one that produces heteronormative relations, rendering women-only spaces as secondary spaces. The gendered and sexualised relation between twarab and wadaha ref lects a gendered order shaping community-related events, in which men primarily

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occupy public positions and fulfil tasks such as giving speeches, while women predominantly take over reproductive tasks in the private sphere. A member of the association Ushababi, which means ‘youth’ and whose members position themselves as belonging to the younger generation, uses the term “caterer” (Interview, 6 December 2013), when she describes the role of women, more specifically the generation of her mother, in wedding festivities in Marseille: They are caterers, I call them (…) caterers. Tomorrow, if you have a marriage in the community, you will see many women who will participate, who will come to your home, […] do the cooking, Comorian caterers, we call them Comorian caterers. They know very well how to organise themselves. In this respect, the papas have their things to do, […] they know in any case there are women behind them, they will follow us. I know that there is a delegation of women who take decisions under quotation marks, decisions among women, like the notables [the customary elite] […] But it is true, when the notables organise something, […] they don’t come to them, they impose their decision and tell them “So we have decided to do a large meeting, you have to prepare food and give money” […] But one has to admit, if today the Comorian community advances, if there are more and more things that are done, even if it is men who take the decisions, I think that it is still the woman who ­provides the donation in fact. (Ibid.) The term ‘caterer’ points out the gendered ascription of reproductive tasks like cooking to women, while also framing these activities as work. Moreover, hierarchies among women are addressed as the member of Ushababi notes that there is a “delegation of women who takes the decisions […] as the notables”. The member of Ushababi addresses the complementary role of women, though not equal structure in terms of political power, to the male notabilité, ref lecting the earlier-mentioned system of age classes (Blanchy 2004, para. 58). Gendered power relations between mother and daughter become apparent, as it is through the daughter’s marriage that a mother gains social status according to customary norms, as discussed in the next section. This gendered private-public relation also structures the unequal gendered division of labour in community-related events, with the male notabilité making decisions and occupying public positions, and with women and their daughters who have accomplished the Great Marriage in charge of the private sphere. The gendered sphere of the home is then linked to the economic sphere, both productive and reproductive, as according to the member of Ushababi it is mainly women of older generations who contribute financially and provide reproductive labour in terms of cooking for instance. When it comes to modes of mobilisation for wadaha events, the relationship of material

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and symbolic exchange explained earlier becomes apparent, as explained by the earlier-cited talent show contestant’s mother: So, one invites friends of the village, the brother-in-law or rather the sisters-in-law because it is a dance for women, here you go. We invited them and well [tell them] that we plan activities, festivities in the benefit of something, so bit by bit we communicate per telephone, here you go female friends. This is how everyone comes, but on the other hand, when they come they invite people, of the family, friends to say ‘come, there is the village of, of my husband which does something, I would have loved that you come with me’, like this I will show that well that is, that is my beautiful family and everything. So this is how it works, so everyone can give what he wants. (Interview, 4 April 2015) The ‘village’ is again addressed as the central space of mobilisation in the sense that it represents the main beneficiary of the event as well as the space around which the mobilisation takes place, as it is friends as well as relatives who are invited to participate. Like the participation at twarab events, the participation at wadaha events is presented as a social obligation to support a certain locality from one friend to another, which also implies processes of exclusion from community membership if not following this practice. ­Moreover, and considering that wadaha, in contrast to twarab, mobilises women related to all four islands, the joined mobilisation can also be read as a strategic decision to mobilise more people and hence more funds. Yet, and besides the role of fundraising, the same interviewed contestant’s mother frames wadaha events as spaces of leisure for women belonging to older generations: The mamans who are really… on the weekends they must go out to unwind and everything. It is not that they have nothing to do, but to them it is a way […] to release tension a bit, to change their daily life […] Oh the mamans, but we the young people, it is rare. (Ibid.) Wadahas can be understood as spaces, which women of older generations have created for themselves to escape the reproductive labour ‘at home’. It is this component of leisure and pleasure that indicates the role of wadaha events as spaces of “sociability” (Fair 2002, 63) and for women of elder generations, mediated through a cultural practice they have known since their home on the Comoros and which re-creates home(s) away from the private space in a context of diaspora (Brah 1996, 189). In the context of Lisbon, Hanna Stepanik (2021, 228, 244) also discusses gendered diaspora spaces – in the context of batuku in the Cape Verdean diaspora – as expressing moments of “uplift”, which she links to larger practices of (self-)care practices in a context of (gendered) diaspora community. In the face of social and economic

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pressure in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation – in the sense of being urged to show one’s (social and economic) membership to Comorian communities – the participation can also become a burden especially in times of economic precarity (Ahmad 2019, 262). Moreover, these spaces of sociability take place in a context of gendered relations shaping mobilisations along locality. The gendered spaces of wadahas present the economic and social ‘support’ structure of twarab events. Gendered divisions of labour are hence reproduced: While women of older generations are main actors in the locality-related mobilisation of economic resources, their economic role has remained ‘invisible’, at least to the public, which shows the interplay of “two sets of gender relations” (Anthias 1998, 573), in terms of a gendered and ethnicised division of labour in the context of postcolonial France and community-related gendered relations (Ahmad 2019, 238). The interaction of gendered relations in France more generally and ­community-related gendered relations also shapes artistic practices and spaces of female twarab artists. Until the 1980s, twarab groups remained a male artistic practice on the Comoros (Blanchy 2010, 243). As explained by the twarab artist Mariama, it was the twarab ya meza (“table twarab”) which allowed female artists to enter the musical sphere of twarab on the Comoros; a twarab only for women and that is organised in the afternoon in the course of the Great Marriage (Carvajal, Hamada Hamza, and Fritsch 2016, min 00:17:34–00:17:40). According to Mariama, the name stems from the fact that during a twarab ya meza, a table is put in the middle of the room in order to collect money (ibid., min 00:17:05–00:17:24), which again indicates the relationship between artistic, customary and economic practices. Whilst twarab events have been opened to both genders, the twarab ya meza continues to exist, indicating the ongoing importance of spaces reserved for female artists on the Comoros (with regard to the Zanzibar context, see Fair 2002). Although the twarab ya meza is not practiced in Marseille, oukoumbis, a ­marriage-related women-only festivity where money is collected for the bride, regularly take place. These events are important spaces for female twarab artists to perform and to gain some income in Marseille (Carvajal, Hamada Hamza, and Fritsch 2016, min 00:17:34–00:17:40). While oukoumbis are important on an economic level, Mariama underlines the role of twarab events for artistic reasons: “When people saw me on stage, they realised that I’m capable of singing at the machouhouli [customary wedding ceremonies] […] which is where I started to receive an envelope…” (ibid., min 00:57:50– 00:58:48). In a similar manner, another female artist addresses the role of gendered spaces to her artistic practice, as she explains: “Since I have given birth, I have slowed down a bit, sometimes I go to sing, sometimes I don’t go, but now my base, I do wedding songs” (Interview, 16 January 2015). The artist also refers to wedding songs as her economic base. Moreover, gendered dimensions regarding artistic practices appear, as she explains that while the situation of having a child prevents her from performing on weekends at twarab events, wedding songs are a feasible way to continue singing and to

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earn a small income. Whilst twarab events are presented as the main stage to perform, it is at oukoumbis that female artists mostly earn their income, indicating gendered practices of reinventing tradition for economic reasons and which ref lect the role of gendered relations in shaping twarab as an artistic practice, both on the Comoros as well as in the diaspora. Generational relations and differences For younger Franco-Comorian generations in particular, the attendance of a twarab event, organised by an association that is related to the locality they identify or are identified with, is framed as a form of social obligation, as underlined by a folk artist who also artistically engaged with twarab at the time of the interview: “If you see young people going to a twarab, this is due to the fact that it is their community. Because they are obliged to accompany their parents” (Interview, 18 March 2015). The attendance of twarab events is described as a family obligation. A contestant in the talent show Etoiles Rasmi who was in her early twenties by the time of the interview in 2013 explicitly refers to this family relation as a gendered one: “[I]t is my mother who is a member [of a locality-related association], but yes I am also part of it [laughs]” (Interview, 20 November 2013). In the face of the earlier-mentioned relationship of mother and daughter in customary relations, the attendance of the daughter in community-related events can be read as adding to the s­ ymbolic status of her mother in community-related contexts. Moreover, and in a context of migration and in relation with the Western notion of the (patriarchal) nuclear family, it becomes evident how practices of diasporic community tend to be ascribed to gendered practices and hence foster conservative g­ ender roles, as discussed in more detail in Chapter 6 (see Sauer 2011; Yuval-Davis 1997). Mobilisations of twarab events hence ref lect generational relations mediated through the gendered institution of the family (Anthias 1998, 572), on the one hand, while they also indicate the role of experiences of migration in shaping differences between younger generations. From the side of younger generations, locality-related associations are presented as spaces mainly related to older generations, especially women. In the same line of reasoning, a left-wing district deputy mayor, also part of the younger generation, underlines the importance of community-related events for older generations: “It is the elders, our parents who are [there] and the youth, the youth is not there” (Interview, 12 November 2013). However, in the case of a twarab concert, which was organised in order to welcome an artist who had recently arrived from the Comoros, young people were well represented in the public: The public is heterogeneous with respect to age and gender, with a predominance of people in their mid-20s to mid-30s. I am the only white person in the room. I make a remark that I am surprised by the strong presence of younger generations at the concert. The artist responds that

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this is related to the fact that the concert has been organised to welcome a twarab star who recently arrived from the Comoros. He further notes that the majority of people who are here are people who migrated from the Comoros. He underlines his argument by pointing to a young woman, explaining that he already knew her on the Comoros. He notes further that younger generations born in France go to twarab concerts when it is related to their families. (Ethnographic protocol, twarab, 24 January 2015) I read the situation of being the only white person at the concert as ref lecting the ethnicised and racialised dimension that shape twarab events, as they are almost exclusively organised and attended by Comorian communities. In Chapter 4, I show how the event halls where Comorian music is performed ref lect the classed, ethnicised and racialised power relations that shape cultural markets in Marseille more generally. Consequently, it is not a surprise that I hardly met any white person and/or any non-Comorian at a twarab concert. Despite the fact that these events are ethnicised and racialised, it also becomes apparent that it is less about one Comorian community than it is about multiple Comorian communities. My astonished question about why there are so many young people at the event suggests that this is usually not the case. Yet, and as the artist’s argumentation suggests, the attitudes of younger generations to twarab concerts differ according to experiences of migration. He describes the motivation among younger generations born in France to go to a twarab as the result of social obligation, while he argues that younger people who migrated from the Comoros came to hear a twarab star from the Comoros. In the documentary Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016), the artist Petit Azihar expresses differences in motivations of younger generations. He explains that there are “those who were born here and listen to twarab at home with their parents, who also come to hear it at the village twarabs”, while “young people who arrive from the Comoros, Egypt, Morocco” are said to come in order to “hear genuine twarab, as all the singers who used to be on the Comoros came here” (ibid., 00:33:49–00:33:55). The artist’s description evokes a public that differs in terms of nationality. I read this statement as an expression of a wish rather than as a ref lection of the current reality of twarab events. Yet, and in a similar way as the earlier-cited artist, he mentions differences among younger generations according to experiences of migration. Both artists hence underline that younger generations that were socialised in France go to twarabs in order to contribute to ‘their villages’, whereas younger people who migrate(d) from the Comoros are said to be interested in the music and/or the artists performing at the event. What is at issue is the image of younger generations born in France as ‘alienated’ from ‘Comorian culture’, whereas members of younger generations who have migrated from the Comoros are presented as ‘closer’ to cultural practices like twarab. Ethnicity is being reified in terms of being ascribed to a ‘space of origin’ and

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in terms of marking differences between younger generations. Against the backdrop of such ethnicising ascriptions and the social and financial obligations they entail, members of younger generations raise critical questions. At this point, it is important to note that in the face of customary power relations, the social category of youth does not only apply to younger generations in terms of age, but also applies to men who have not performed the Great Marriage. A positionality as younger generation thus also often entails a critical position towards custom (Interview, two members of the association Ushababi, 6 December 2013). In this regard, the role of community-related events as a means of ‘development’ appears as a contested topic, as articulated by a Franco-Comorian left-wing district deputy mayor: Today there is an assistance, but it is an economic infusion to those who are there on the Comoros. That’s it […] this is obligatory, because ­otherwise they die of hunger there. […] There is a dependency, but this dependency must not mean organisation. It is a solidarity, which focuses on families. […] It really is a very localised assistance, which goes, which goes to the family. (Interview, 12 November 2013) The politician frames the collection of funds through activities like twarab events as a form of assistance that he situates in family-related contexts and which are ‘obligatory’ due to the socio-economically marginalised position of the Comoros. The social obligation according to family ties is placed in a larger postcolonial context of economic inequalities between postcolonial diasporas and their ‘countries of origin’. A Franco-Comorian journalist describes this relation in an interview as a “system of assistance which is quite non-productive” (Interview, 21 November 2013). On the one hand, the journalist’s as well as the politician’s critique ref lect the earlier-discussed problematic of postcolonial diasporas substituting governmental tasks. On the other hand, the wording ‘non-productive’ articulates dominant development policies, targeting mostly informal activities of diasporic communities, which are meant to be integrated into formal capital f lows in the context of development and aid (see Sinatti and Horst 2015). However, and given the relation between economic and customary relations inscribed into ­community-related fundraising activities, the respective economic relations can be considered as ‘productive’, as the aid to the family or village is needed to gain the status of ‘Accomplished’, the highest rank reserved for men according to aada na mila. Moreover, and given the economic means that go along with the Great Marriage – large amounts of gold and capital are required from the side of the marrying man – it has also become a substantial means for the development of localities, which also enhances the social status of a locality in the context of Ngazidja (Blanchy 2011, 274). What becomes apparent are differing and partly conf licting perceptions of the relation between culture and economy – in relation with customary practices – between

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older and younger generations, but also between those in favour of the Great Marriage and those against it. In this regard, a centrist district councillor critically raises the problem of creating new forms of organisation among Comorian communities: Comorians were organised in village associations, regional ones etc. This does not speak to those who were born here. […] The day when those will no longer perform activities, because at a certain moment the older persons won’t be there etc., there will no longer be a form of organisation. A new organisation must be found which at the moment does not exist, which slowly grows, one starts, one starts to see its silhouettes. (Interview, 17 February 2015) According to the politician, the dominant mode of organisation along locality does not correspond to the wishes of younger Franco-Comorian generations. However, he also critically remarks that younger generations have not yet established forms of organisation powerful enough to challenge the dominant form of organisation. The critique of the social category of locality can be read as an indication that new forms of organisation are driven by different articulations of ethnicised community, which I elaborate more on in Chapter 6 with regard to younger generations and dominant cultural markets and in Chapter 7 on local politics and the mobilisation of ethnicised communities.

Twarab artists – a communitarised positionality As shown by the hitherto analysis, cultural mobilisations are central to the dispositif of communitarisation, as diasporic communities constitute themselves as collective subjects by means of cultural practices. Such mobilisations are located on a meso-level (Sauer and Wöhl 2008, 259),11 and in doing so, they promote subject positions as categories of identification to individual members of Comorian communities, which then also shape forms of subjectivation, that is, self-understandings and practices of the self (Bührmann and Schneider 2008, 69). In this section, I focus on forms of subjectivation among artists in the context of twarab. I am interested in how artists respond to subject positions offered to them in the context of twarab as a diasporic cultural market and, consequently, how artists negotiate their self-understandings and (artistic) practices in the context of Comorian communities. In the course of the collaborative work on the documentary project Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016), there was an ongoing domain of discussion between my colleague Mounir Hamada Hamza and me, namely which power relations we should mainly address with respect to artists engaged in twarab in Marseille. While Hamada Hamza usually underlined that we should focus on the role of Comorian communities with respect to artists and their practices, I emphasised that we needed to situate the marginalisation of artists within Marseille’s cultural markets ‘more generally’ (see Fritsch and Hamada

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Hamza 2021). Thanks to these discussions, I realised that my emphasis on situating the artists’ realities in a more ‘general picture’ – talking from a white positionality and hence unmarked community – de-­particularised the specific power relations artists faced in the context of twarab as a diasporic cultural market in Marseille. In line with these discussions, I argue that the artists’ self-understandings and practices ref lect a communitarised positionality, in which community-related networks and contexts are both facilitating and restraining their artistic practice. Subjectivation thus takes place through communitarisation. The communitarised positionality ref lects ethnicised biopolitics, as artists and their practices are ascribed and ascribe themselves to ethnicised population groups, which has resulted in a framing of artists as ‘community artists’. Borrowing from Nina Glick-Schiller and Noel B. Salazar (2013), I understand communitarisation as part of “regimes of mobility”, that is political, economic and discursive power relations that shape (im-)mobilities of twarab artists, both in physical and social mobility terms. As I will show, such forms of im-/mobility ref lect intersectional power relations, more specifically the intersection of ethnicisation, class and gendered relations (see Anthias 2012; Thimm and Chaudhuri 2019). As different trajectories of interviewed artists show, community-related contexts are central to artistic mobility in the first place. Despite the commercialisation of Comorian music since the 1990s, many interviewed artists underlined the lack of possibilities for artists on the Comoros up until today (e.g. Interview, twarab singer, 16 January 2015).12 Since the 1990s, France has become a central destination for Comorian artists’ concert tours as well as a place of residence for Comorian artists. With the exception of well-known female artists like Chamsia Sagaf or Zaïnaba Ahmed, mainly male artists migrate(d). However, more female artists have started to migrate to France since the 2000s (Interview, twarab musician, 18 February 2015). The artists I interviewed ref lect the gendered differences in migratory trajectories, as two of the three men interviewed migrated in the 1980s and 1990s, while two of the female artists migrated in the first decade of the 2000s. Moreover, the research has shown that it is predominantly artists from Ngazidja who migrate, which is also the case for all interviewed artists. In order to emphasise the extent of artistic migration from the Comoros to France, a twarab musician and representative of a twarab association in Marseille states that 80%–90% of the artists who were known on the Comoros are currently living in France (Interview, 18 February 2015). All artists, ranging in age from their late 20s to the early 40s, were already artists on the Comoros. While some used to play different kinds of music on the Comoros – including folk, zouk, blues and reggae – others already specialised in twarab ‘back home’. However, in Marseille, twarab represented the primary artistic practice of all artists interviewed, though to differing extents. What becomes evident are processes of being ‘fixed’ in twarab in a context of migration, ref lecting regimes of mobility in terms of an uneven interplay between physical mobility and artistic immobility. This articulation

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of regimes of mobility takes place in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation, as artistic migration is related to community-related networks. The relation between artistic migration and communitarisation processes become apparent as an artist shares his personal experience of artistic mobility during the tour of his musical group Ninga des Comores in the mid-1990s: When we [Ninga des Comores] went to France, we did a tour here and we returned to the Comoros. From that moment on we did recordings and we went to La Réunion and Mayotte and then on the Comoros, we toured on Grande Comore and also on the other islands. Later, a college teacher we worked with told us (…) that we should better install ourselves in France so that we could really do good music there, so that the music becomes well known. (Interview, 18 February 2015) The artist frames mainland France as a strategic space to enhance one’s a­ rtistic ‘capital’, as it was after having toured in France that the group continued to tour in the Indian Ocean. Yet, in the long run, it was France that was ­suggested to the artists as a central space to further their artistic careers by a college teacher and friend to the group, evoking what Glick-Schiller and Salazar (2013, 194f.) refer to as “rumours of ‘the other side’”. These rumours are presented in the framing of France as a ‘better place’, showing colonial continuities in terms of reproducing an image of the former colonial ­métropole as the place for ‘success’. Moreover, the narrative not only implies colonial continuities in images, but it also reveals economic dependencies of cultural markets in the global South on markets in the global North. As my former colleague and artist Mounir Hamada Hamza emphasises in a dialogue between the two of us on Comorian art and postcolonialism: “You cannot conduct research on the Comoros on Comorian culture or literature without a French institution behind. That is impossible, as you know, the Comoros are not an independent country, they are independent one might say, but still colonised” (Fritsch and Hamada Hamza 2021, 167, translation K.F.). Hamada Hamza addresses colonial continuities in terms of a continuous dominance of French institutions in the promotion of Comorian art and artists. Another artist then situates the strong migration of artists from the Comoros to France within a larger context of socio-economic inequalities between the Comoros and France: Because I tell you my dear, I tell you, there everybody needs to come here, everybody (…) everybody. You can stay ten days, soso, you go, after that you come here, you sing, you want to try out your life. There is no life there, there is nothing there (…). Well, we have the right to come here, […] we have the right to come here, normal. You find a visa, you stay in a normal way (…) well everybody, the whole world is in France. You find a Chinese person, a Comorian person, a Senegalese person,

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everybody is here why? Because here the hospital is for free, you can stay a bit in the sense of I don’t know (…) you stay a bit, if you stay you stay at life at least, you eat at least here in France. (Interview, 4 February 2015) The artist depicts a drastic image of poverty on the Comoros, as she ­explains that “there is no life there”. While such a presentation of the Comoros might ref lect the research relations at work – an artist who migrated from the ­Comoros being interviewed by a white Austrian PhD student – what also becomes apparent are the postcolonial continuities of racialised socio-­economic inequalities between a former colony and the former métropole. By referring to different groups of migrants, she emphasises the role of France as a central space of migration, not only from former colonies, but also from other geographical places. She links the ‘attractivity’ of France to the existence of social services, hence again underlining the role of socio-economic conditions in migration. In this respect, the artist’s wording “we have the right” ref lects a self-understanding of socio-economic migration as a right. This right has been constantly denied by French migration regimes – part of a larger European migration regime – which have also ignored the ongoing relations of dependency between former colonies and contemporary metropolitan France (Cooper 2009, 113f.). When the artist elaborates further on her migratory trajectory, she explains that it was AFED (Association Franco-Comorienne pour l’Entreprenariat et le Développement/Franco-Comorian Association for Entrepreneurship and Development) that organised a tour of twarab concerts for the group of female twarab artists – called Banati Nour of which she was part of at the time – in Paris, Lyon, Dunkerque and Marseille in 2009 (16 January 2015). The name of the association ref lects the earlier-discussed relationship between cultural associations and development policies, indicating a framing of culture as a means of development as well as the strong role of development discourses and practices in the domain of culture in countries of the global South (see e.g. Radcliffe 2006). The artist then emphasises that “it was not the plan that I stay here. Normally I tell you, I come, well, to find a bit of money, I go back” (ibid.). With respect to the situation after going back, she then outlines: “I will be well in my life with my family […] and my children” (ibid.). France is again presented as a central space for artistic mobility. Yet, to use Glick-Schiller and Salazar’s framing (2013, 194f.), it was more about moving “from one locality to another and back” than about staying. The emphasis on her initial plan to go abroad to earn money through concerts and then to go back to her family and children shows how her artistic practice has positioned her as the ‘breadwinner’ of the family (Erel 2015, 213f.). The ascription of a breadwinner role contests classic gendered ascriptions towards societies in the global South and rather shows how regimes of mobility also work along gendered practices. Consequently, it is her positionality as breadwinner that finally let her stay in France, as she elaborates on how someone is

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seen ‘back home’: “When you come here, [and] you go back, everybody, they speak about you, they speak badly about you” (Interview, twarab singer, 16 January 2015). The artist’s statement about those ‘speaking badly’ about people who return from France indicates the above-mentioned imaginaries and expectations of a ‘better life’ in France, which frame ‘going back’ as a ‘failure’. Artistic migration is hence part of a regime of mobility, characterised by economic dependencies from communities on the Comoros on communities in the diaspora and, conversely, the social dependency from the diaspora in terms of social recognition on the part of communities on the Comoros. In Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016), the artist Hilaali critically ref lects on the role of music clips as promoting a biased image of artists living in the diaspora: “The person you see on a daily basis and the person you see in the twarab, are completely different. People on the Comoros see what’s on the DVD. You see a black man [laughs] who’s become white” (Caravajal, Hamada Hamza, and Fritsch 2016, min 00:54:55–00:55:13). The artist addresses how twarab video clips depict artists as well-off, while the majority of ­actual artists live in precarious conditions. Moreover, racialised and gendered ­d imensions of postcolonial migration are addressed, as he frames the artist’s migration as a process in which a ‘black man’ is transformed into a ‘white man’, indicating the gendered coloniality that has shaped artists’ forms of subjectivation in the context of postcolonialism. Artists hence reproduce the notion of being ‘better off ’ in France through video clips, although they are confronted with different cultural markets in their artistic practice in France. When the former member of Ninga des ­Comores elaborates on the trajectory of the group in France, he addresses challenges in getting access to non-community-related cultural markets: So the whole group installed itself here in France from 99 on and from there on when we were in France we had a bad, bad history, because the people who were here they don’t show you the good way so that one gets into… so that one can make music in the Western sense. We ended up doing music as a side activity, this means not in the places where one should. Well, I have higher education, I attended university, I got to know friends, we played (…) in Noailles [neighbourhood in the centre of Marseille] in a festival that is called festival du soleil [‘festival of the sun’], we then played in (…) the Panier [neighbourhood in the centre of ­Marseille] […] we played at different music festivals here in France. (Interview, 18 February 2015) The musician addresses the problems he and his colleagues faced on their arrival in France. In this regard, he emphasises his higher educational background, which he links to his ability to get to know other artists in Marseille and which enabled him to play at different festivals. The emphasis on his higher educational background and his working with other musical groups – at another point in the interview he mentions a “Congolese group” and

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“Malagasy artists” (ibid.) – suggests that other artists who migrate from the Comoros are usually located in the working class and usually do not have access to non-Comorian artistic contexts. His statement “the people who were here they don’t show you the good way so … that one can make music in the Western sense” further indicates a complicated relationship between artists and Franco-Comorian associations. While it implies associations as an important network and resource for arriving artists, his critical framing hints at conf licts of interest regarding music genres. He then frames twarab as a ‘timeless’ community practice: “As the Comorian community isn’t really interested in international music, we have found our income in twarab as it is the music that doesn’t grow old” (ibid.). The framing of twarab as a music genre that has kept its meaning across time and space shows the importance of twarab music as a cultural identity. Moreover, the role of community-related contexts to artists becomes evident as twarab is presented as a source of income to artists. Such a twofold dependency between association and artists has created a situation where artists who did not play twarab music on the Comoros ‘end up’ playing twarab in Marseille. An artist and folk musician addresses communitarisation processes with reference to his artistic trajectory in Marseille. Having won various prizes in regional music competitions in the Indian Ocean, he comments on the challenges of playing folk music at communityrelated events. Instead, he has been offered to take on the lead of a twarab group, which he has agreed to do (Interview, 18 March 2015). He links this lack of interest to the fact that people did not attend twarab events mainly for the music, but rather to contribute to ‘their village’ (ibid.), addressing the primary objective of twarab events. While this objective tends to contradict with the artists’ wish of being recognised as artist, the role of twarab as fundraising events constantly demands for artists to perform, which he also benefits from. The ongoing role of associations in facilitating artists’ migration became evident during the earlier-mentioned twarab concert organised to welcome a recently arrived female artist from the same locality as the organising association: The star of the evening appears. She walks down the steps from a room located at the backside of the hall. Whilst walking down, people start cheering, moving and waving in her direction. She walks through the hall towards the stage, where the crowd receives her. She receives a wreath of f lowers. The artist explains to me that the man who is waiting for her on stage is her husband and that the wreath of f lowers represents a welcome symbol. (Ethnographic protocol, twarab, 24 January 2015) As the scene indicates, gendered and heteronormative relations have shaped the artist’s migratory trajectory, as the artist is welcomed by her husband.

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Additionally, her positionality as an artist in Marseille is presented as one situated within Comorian communities. At the beginning of the event, a representative of the twarab association Ngoma des Îles explicitly addresses the role of Franco-Comorian associations in enabling the migration of ‘their’ artists: “Today I have come here to tell you that the inhabitants of the city of […] have respected the obligation that they have towards all Comorians. These Comorians who bring the stars of their islands” (Ibid.). The word ‘obligation’ frames the role of Franco-Comorian associations as responsible to the locality they represent in the context of diaspora. The role of ­community-related networks in facilitating the migration of artists indicates ethnicised biopolitics, which intersect with gendered and class relations: On the one hand, these networks are crucial in making migration possible in the face of racist, classist and sexist migration regimes (see e.g. Amelina and Lutz 2019). On the other hand, migration through communitarisation also results in ethnicised (self-)governing of artists, as they are constantly being marked as ‘community artists’ in order to assure the availability of artists for twarab as diasporic cultural market. Artistic work as ‘community contribution’ A representative of the twarab association Ngoma des Îles emphasises that when they organise a twarab event, the artists play “for free” (Interview, 6 February 2015). In interviews with artists, however, it becomes evident that they consider their artistic practices as work. As the artist Hilaali critically remarks in Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016): “Most of the songs aren’t even paid for. You help the villages. […] They don’t think about the fact that if you do a song, you’re giving your energy, paying for a studio” (Carvajal, Hamada Hamza, and Fritsch 2016, min 00:56:44–00:56:51:23). Hilaali addresses the predominant meaning ascribed to twarab as a ‘community contribution’. However, he also characterises the act of writing and recording a song as work, which should be remunerated financially as well as recognised socially. As I will argue in this subsection, twarab as a communitarised artistic practice ref lects a tension between meanings ascribed to twarab as a ‘community contribution’ on the one hand, and the role of twarab as work, on the other. As cultural work connoted as ‘free’, twarab presents processes of de-valorisation of (cultural) work performed in associations (see Maud 2018). The context of twarab shows how de-valorisation processes are part of a postcolonial context, related to the lack of valorisation and acknowledgement of artistic practice on the Comoros, in the diaspora and within the larger French society (Fritsch and Hamada Hamza 2021, 166ff.). Accordingly, the representative of the twarab association Ngoma des Îles mentioned above describes the role of artists as a ‘humanitarian’ one, which ref lects both a context on the Comoros and in France: On the Comoros (…) we did not live from the music, we did it for humanitarian reasons. There we did it for humanitarian reasons. But when

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we started to do albums, then we started to… not everybody, we started to have a bit of money based on what we did. But when we come here, we still do it for humanitarian reasons, but the difference here is that one sees a lot of people, in fact one finds many ways to manage one’s life. (Interview, 6 February 2015) The artist refers to the situation of artists in Marseille or France more generally as similar but not identical to the Comoros. The artist’s description indicates a change in contexts, but a continuity of discourses in which twarab figures as a ‘community contribution’ on the Comoros and in France, ref lecting the diasporic constitution of twarab as a cultural market in Marseille. While in both contexts artistic practice remains largely unpaid work, he emphasises France as a place with more possibilities to “manage one’s life”, which ref lects better socio-economic conditions. Yet, his description of artistic practice also implies that while on the Comoros he and his group could partly pursue artistic practice independently from community-related context, in Marseille, their artistic work has been fixed in a communitarised positionality. Since the 2000s, twarab associations have been created – with the above-mentioned Ngoma des Îles presenting one, together with Ngoma des Comores and Upatu des Comores – with the aim at regrouping artists in the twarab community in Marseille. The association comprises around 100 members, both artists and non-artists (Interview, Representative Ngoma des Îles, 6 February 2015). In Ngazidja, musical groups have developed along customary social relations, with the age class of the ‘Sons of the city’, a group of men who have not yet accomplished the Great Marriage, in charge of musical groups and who play at musical events taking place in the course of marriages (Blanchy 2010, 129ff.). Since the 1980s and 1990s, however, the role of musical associations has changed more into the direction to “finance […] the infrastructure of a village or a ­neighbourhood” (ibid., 244; translation KF). Twarab associations ref lect such a developmentoriented organisation of musical groups in a diasporic context, while they also indicate forms of organisation among artists. As outlined by Nfoungoulié, a founding member of the twarab association Ngoma des Comores, their objective was to better structure the organisation of twarab concerts. In order to do so, they installed a system that four musical groups should alternate in playing at two twarab events each Saturday, ­reducing the number of events to two per week and resulting in a situation where enough money was raised in order to finance projects as well as artists (Carvajal, Hamada Hamza, and Fritsch 2016, min 00:25:25–00:28:21). In line with such a narrative, an artist and member of the twarab association Ngoma des Îles presents twarab not as a system to collect funds, but also as a system in order to support artists in a context of migration: In addition [to the collection of funds], it is a system for the artists so that they can produce themselves, because for example when they are here

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they can stay at home without playing, without doing anything. Thanks to this system, when a Comorian singer is in France, he partly works and does his music with respect to the community. It is the system that we have created, if not he will come here, he will stay at home. (Interview, 18 February 2015) According to the interview partner, artists would stay at home if there were no twarab events to perform at which indicates the marginalised positionality of artists migrating from the Comoros to France. The ‘he’ in the quote is not accidental; rather, it ref lects the majority position of men among artists migrating from the Comoros. In a similar way, another representative of the same association describes their role as one of supporting “artists in difficult circumstances”, who “are unemployed artists, beneficiaries of RSA [guaranteed minimum income]” and who “would like to become known or to go further […] [but] don’t have the means to, to do recordings” (Interview, 6 February 2015). The representative of Ngoma des Îles addresses the working-class positionality of many twarab artists and the possibility to earn some additional money by performing twarab at community-related events. He further expresses the wish of many artists to pursue their artistic practice further, which ref lects the earlier-discussed aspirations of artists migrating from the Comoros to France. Yet, and while twarab associations certainly aim at supporting artists, they are also part of a system in which artistic practice is mainly aimed at the development of villages and which results in frustration among artists, as the earlier-mentioned folk artist and head of a twarab group explains: People are fed up, all the time we are, we are fed up, even me I have moments when I don’t go [laughs], it is a bit tiring […] we go to work in the morning to 6 o’clock p.m., afterwards voilà imagine the rehearsal, we rehearse at 7 p.m., there are people who come […] directly to the rehearsal. And they will [rehearse] until 10 p.m. and the day after one has to get up and go to work, it is stressful […] It is because of that that we don’t manage to compose here, we don’t have the time. (Interview, 18 March 2015) Twarab is presented as a side activity, which does not permit musicians to grow artistically and which is pursued by musicians next to their jobs – in case they have one – in order to contribute to ‘their community’. Moreover, twarab is presented as a monotone practice, which does not allow for further artistic development. As a result, there are artists who clearly distance themselves from twarab associations and the obligations such a membership entail. An artist who performed in the milieu of World Music at the time of the research critically ref lects on the relationship between associations and artists as follows: It is, it is an association of musicians where everyone contributes a bit to the village of Comorians, the development of the Comoros, you see? They are not under quotation marks formation centres for musicians.

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This is one of the reasons why I am not part of it. I tell myself if it is a musical association, the aim is to instruct musicians, to give musicians the tools to develop. Instead, it is the opposite; the aim is that the musicians give (…) their time, their money, voilà that’s it. (Interview, 29 March 2015) To the artist, twarab associations demand financial and artistic services instead of supporting their artistic growth. In line with such a critique, a female twarab artist emphasises that she is not part of any twarab association, as she wants to remain independent, indicating the logics of contribution that result from membership in a twarab association. Yet, during the interview it also became apparent that the decision to not be part of any association did not facilitate her artistic practice in the milieu of twarab (Interview, 16 January 2015), unmasking the dominant role twarab associations have in the organisation of twarab events and which hinder forms of organising twarab concerts independently from community-related contexts. Next to twarab associations, female artists are further depending on associations managing who sings at an oukoumbi (Interview, twarab singer, 6 March 2015). With respect to the remuneration for singing at wedding festivities, a female artist explains that “the money that one gains directly at the event is for the association” (ibid.), indicating again the framing of the artistic practice as a ‘community contribution’. However, she remarks that she can keep the money she receives from the common practice of slipping money into an artists’ clothing, a common practice at community-related events. It is through the selling of CDs specially recorded for the occasion of a wedding ceremony that she earns money: “To make the song this is not part of the association, it is my part. I take half of it, 150 Euros I pay to the studio, 150 Euros is what I will earn” (ibid.). At this point, it is important to note that to the two female artists I interviewed, the wedding songs presented the main source of income, next to social services they obtained for their children, since they did not (formally) work in any other domain. One of the interviewees explained that she used to work in a shop selling clothes and shoes when she was living on Mayotte, but struggled with finding a job in Marseille: “If I find a cleaning job in an office like that, I can do it” (Interview, 6 March 2015). The reference to a cleaning job ref lects the common domain of work for Comorian women in Marseille (Ahmad 2019, 238), situated in the context of gendered and racialised capitalism (see Vergès 2017; on its reinforcement during Covid-19, see Vergès 2020). Intersectional power relations hence shape both the formal labour market and the associative domain, as they depend on and de-valorise activities performed by gendered, ethnicised and racialised working-class subjects (Maud 2018, 45ff.). In this regard, the second interviewed female artist contests the dichotomy of associations of twarab as ‘leisure’ versus twarab as ‘work’: There are people who have work, normal work, it [twarab] is not the job. But to me it is my job, well it is my job, to sing is my job, because I love it, […] I have loved it so much since I have been little […] It is my life,

134  Twarab as a Diasporic Cultural Market

well, I love it too much in my life […] But yes, there are people […] he does it for, for fashion. (Interview, 16 January 2015) Twarab is presented as a popular culture market where access to the artistic practice seems relatively low (Englert 2008, 1). This kind of popularisation however seems to create challenges for artists like her who consider their artistic practice as their main domain of work. In her research on female twarab groups in Zanzibar in the 1990s, Fair (2002, 67) discusses conf licting ascriptions towards twarab as ‘leisure’ versus twarab as ‘work’ and argues that it is not the practice itself but the context in which it is practised which shapes a certain connotation. In this regard, she shows how the nationalist instrumentalisation of twarab during the Zanzibar revolution in the 1960s resulted in a loss of the fun-aspect in terms of sociability among female singers. In the context of twarab in Marseille, the framing of twarab as community contribution seems to have brought about similar effects, as the fun is mostly lost, as twarab has become a monotonous practice, as discussed earlier. However, in her emphasis on twarab as both work and her passion, the female artist re-appropriates both, twarab as fun and as work. The earlier-mentioned former member of Ninga des Comores and continuous member of a twarab association also addresses the question of recognising twarab as a “job”, linking it to the necessity to formalise the remuneration of artists in the twarab community (Interview, 18 February 2015). Referring to his own situation, he explains that a formalisation would enable him to declare his artistic activity as a regular form of income. Many artists I interviewed noted that they were remunerated, usually around 100 Euros per concert. However, some hesitated to say ‘paid’, indicating that payment was informal and showing also how admitting to being paid is potentially problematic. What becomes apparent is the non-recognition of twarab as cultural and artistic work due to its informalisation in a community-related context, which has also rendered twarab invisible as artistic work on the level of cultural policies. It became clear during my research that twarab artists did not (yet) have access to the formal status as artist in terms of intermittence,13 which shows the marginalised positionality of twarab artists in the context of a larger cultural industry in Marseille.

A politics of locality As a diasporic cultural market, twarab is part of the dispositif of communitarisation, since it is embedded in community-related economic, cultural and customary practices. Twarab ref lects the postcolonial power relations that Comorian communities face in Marseille, both as an ethnicised population group in France and as a diaspora with social, political and economic relations between Comorian communities in France and on the Comoros, more precisely Ngazidja. Multiple forms of social and economic dependencies can be

Twarab as a Diasporic Cultural Market  135

observed: While communities on the Comoros depend on the diaspora for financial means and social networks to facilitate mobility, the diaspora depends on social recognition from communities on the Comoros. Against this backdrop, twarab as a cultural market draws attention to forms of ethnicised (self-)governing of Comorian communities shaped by and shaping a politics of locality. While representations of twarab as part of Comorian identity indicate ethnicisation processes in the sense of boundary-maintenance (Brubaker 2005, 6), the politics of locality also reveals a tension between ethnicity and locality in communitarisation processes. Twarab represents a specific articulation of Grand-Comorian identity, as culture is being equated with custom and is situated within intersectional power relations, more specifically the intersection of locality, age classes, gendered and generational relations. Whereas discourses and practices of twarab as part of Comorian identity respond to the urgency of economic and social dependencies in the context of diaspora, such representations are also embedded in the context of postcolonial France producing an urgency of ethnicised identity. Against this backdrop, the communitarised positionality of twarab artists points to re-traditionalisation processes in the contexts of postcolonial France and of diaspora, which both contribute to the de-valorisation of twarab as cultural work (Fritsch and Hamada Hamza 2021, 167f.). Re-­traditionalisation processes hence present a strategy – in Foucault’s (1978, 138) sense of a manoeuvre and intervention – in the dispositif of communitarisation by securing the artist’s role in supporting Comorian communities. The power of communitarisation in shaping artists’ subjectivation processes is part of a postcolonial order that constantly ascribes postcolonial subjects to ethnicised communities and spaces, which also differ according to class and gender. It is in this context that communitarisation must be seen to take place in the first place. However, my analysis also shows how communitarisation serves diasporic cultural, economic and social relations. In the next chapter, I continue with my analysis of forms of subjectivation in the context of cultural markets by focusing on younger generations and their relation to Comorian culture and communities. I will show how younger generations articulate forms of subjectivation as ‘Franco-Comorians’ in the face of ethnicising ascriptions on the part of both the dominant society and Comorian communities.

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Notes 1 For the French version, see https://vimeo.com/288013953; for the English version, see https://vimeo.com/288013953, last accessed 25 November 2021. 2 All interviews were held in French, were translated by me, and are here presented in an English translation. The same applies to the interviews cited from the documentary Histoires de Twarab à Marseille (2016). 3 Taarab is the Swahili and twarab the Comorian spelling (Gräbner 2001, 129). 4 The subject position ‘Shirazi’ derives from ascriptions of one’s lineage to the port of Shiraz in the Persian Gulf (Blanchy 2004, para. 9). 5 Thanks to Alev Çakır who brought up the notion of solidarity when we talked about the musical references discussed by the artist with respect to twarab (personal communication 20 November 2016). 6 Thanks to Ahmad Abdoul-Malik for his thoughts on this interplay between customary power relations and Arab-connoted culture, related to religion, in shaping cultural politics on the Comoros and in the Comorian diaspora (personal communication 10 December 2020). 7 Khamis (2005, 133) emphasizes the “adoption of Western values and secularization” in twarab music. However, he also underlines that although twarab does not represent a religious cultural practice, its embeddedness within contexts shaped by Muslim practices complicates simplistic dichotomies of ‘secularism’ and ‘religion’. 8 Other interview partners involved in the twarab community never mentioned this story, so it does not represent ‘common-sense’ knowledge with respect to histories of twarab in Marseille. 9 Associations related to other islands like Mwali are organised on the level of island, which might be the result of the fewer people living in the diaspora. 10 With regard to the late 1990s, Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou (2002, 135ff) mention the mwalid, a religious ceremony that is part of the wedding, where the focus lies on the families of the bride and groom; the oukoumbi, a women-only festivity, where money is collected for the bride; twarab and the religious wedding called umbizwa. At the time of my research, these practices continued to be central events. 11 Using an intersectional approach towards governing in the context of diversity politics, Birgit Sauer and Stefanie Wöhl (2008, 259) differentiate between the macro level – social structures, social institutions, and political regulations and practices –, the meso level – political mobilisations through parties, unions, and social movements –, and the micro level – the formation of subjects and identities. 12 Since 2017, there has existed a draft law aiming at improving and formalising the status of artists on the Comoros (“Comoros: supporting the status of its artists” 2018). 13 In France, artists can obtain the status of ‘intermittent’, which permits them to receive unemployment benefits during the time of formal unemployment (for a critical discussion on protests around the status of intermittents, see Les Désobéissants 2011).

6 Etoiles Rasmi ‘Ethno-Preneurialism’ and the Performativity of ‘Franco-Comorianness’

Introduction As Avtar Brah (1996, 190) underlines, practices of diaspora differ from ­generation to generation: Clearly, the relationship of the first generation to the place of migration is different from that of subsequent generations, mediated as it is by memories of what was recently left behind, and by the experiences of disruption and displacement as one tries to re-orientate, to form new social networks, and learns to negotiate new economic, political and ­cultural realities. In this chapter, I discuss how younger Franco-Comorian generations relate to ethnicised ‘origin’ in the context of cultural markets and the dispositif of communitarisation, that is, the relationship between cultural and economic practices on the one hand and discourses and practices of ethnicised communities on the other. I thus continue my discussion of forms of subjectivation (Bührmann and Schneider 2008, 69) in the context of cultural markets and communitarisation processes. In contrast to the previous chapter, in which I discuss twarab – a popular music genre in Eastern Africa and the Comoros – as a diasporic cultural market embedded in cultural, economic and customary power relations, I now place my focus on representations and practices of Comorian culture in dominant ‘multicultural markets’. I focus on the talent show Etoiles Rasmi, which took place on 10 November 2013 in the Docks des Suds, a central show venue in Marseille. Four contestants – three female and one male contestant, the youngest aged 13 and the oldest in his ­m id-30s at the time of the concert – participated and interpreted songs of well-known Comorian artists.1 In addition, the event was accompanied by other ­cultural activities, for instance a buffet offering different cuisines. The event was ­organised by RASMI-Paca, a Franco-Comorian association with ties to the region of Mitsamiouli on Ngazidja, and whose board is run by members of younger generations (Interview, Representative of RASMI-Paca, 1 April 2015).2 I am interested in how younger generations pursuing the objective

DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665-6

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of promoting Comorian culture negotiate their identities in the context of cultural practices and discourses and practices of Comorian communities, on the one hand, and a dominant ‘multicultural‘ community, on the other. In Ethnicity, INC., Jean Comaroff and John Comaroff (2009, 51) describe processes of commodification of ethnicity in the context of contemporary neoliberalism as ‘ethno-preneurialism’, manifested in ethno-theme parks or policies that turn indigenous knowledge into ‘cultural property’. Such ­practices of representing culture as a commodity and a form of (human) ­capital are contradictory: They ref lect the exoticisation and objectification of non-Western cultures and the continuous ascription of non-white ­subjects to an-Other(ed) ‘culture’. However, ethno-preneurialism also offers possibilities for ethnicised subjects to claim rights in the context of multicultural ­neoliberalism (ibid., 86ff.). I discuss the talent show as representing ethno-­ preneurialism in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation, that is, as related to discourses, practices and institutions of diasporic community and ethnicised biopolitics. Ethnicised (self-)governing takes place as ethnicised subjects perform their entrepreneurial selves and are urged to do so by drawing on ethnicised origin and community as a cultural and economic resource (see Çakır and Fritsch 2021; Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2003).3 In this regard, I consider my research interest and participation in the event as part of a volunteer group – as a white, female PhD student from Austria – as an integral part of the postcolonial context and the ethno-preneurialism characterising the show. My research interest contributed to the promotion of ethnicised origin as a resource, by partly taking on the positionality of a consumer of Comorian culture. However, my participation in the volunteer group also to some extent contested notions of ‘authenticity’ at work in ethnicised biopolitics, as I became part of the production of an ‘authentic’ Comorian culture, revealing the inherent performativity of culture itself (Brah 1996, 231). I discuss the talent show as ethno-preneurialism from the perspective of a dispositif analysis (see Bührmann and Schneider 2008; see Chapter 2 on theory and methodology). Based on episodic (Flick 2011) with three contestants and expert interviews (Bogner, Littig, and Menz 2005) with organisers of the event, participant observations at the show (Breidenstein et al. 2013) and the analysis of accompanying audio-visual material,4 I analyse how ­ethnicised origin is promoted as a subject position to younger Franco-­Comorian generations in the context of a dominant ‘multicultural’ community and on the part of Franco-Comorian associations, and how it is mobilised as a resource, as a space for entrepreneurial activity and self-representation by younger ­generations. I show how younger generations negotiate ethnicised origin, community and culture by articulating forms of subjectivation as ­‘Franco-Comorian’. Franco-Comorianness ref lects what has been discussed as ‘hyphenated identities’ mainly in the context of migration and diaspora to refer to forms of belonging to more than one ‘ethnicity’, ‘nation’ or ‘culture’ (see e.g. Caglar 1997; Hall 1996a; for more recent discussions, see e.g. Kaya 2019; Mahdavi 2021).5 In the French context, hyphenated identities

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are expressed in the notion of a double culture that is both the effect and the negotiation of assimilationist conceptions of Frenchness (see Bouamama 2006). Throughout this chapter, I show that hyphenation is part of ethnicised biopolitics. On the one hand, hyphenation presents a form of governing through ethnicising categories, while it also points to possibilities of re-positioning oneself in the context of ethnicised biopolitics. It is against the backdrop of ethnicising ascriptions on the part of both the dominant French community and marginalised Comorian communities that younger Franco-­Comorian generations re-position themselves, thus indicating the performativity of ethnicised and racialised identity itself (see Muñoz 2006; Tate 2005). In this regard, performative negotiations of ethnicised identity through cultural practices are also embedded in intersectional power relations (Brah 1996, 201ff.), as they engender gendered practices of transmission. By appropriating Comorian music, younger generations question the dominant association of Comorian culture with ‘custom’ in Comorian communities, while they also contribute to re-traditionalisation processes (see Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983) in the context of dominant multicultural markets.

Cosmopolitan Marseille and the cultural promotion of ethnicised ‘origin’ The talent show indicates a shift in practising diasporic community among younger generations. From the perspective of diaspora as a dispositif (see Chapter 2), communitarisation processes respond to ‘urgencies’ (Foucault 1978, 120), which means that they are embedded within political, economic and socio-cultural contexts. In this regard, a member of the organisational team outlines different urgencies related to both Comorian communities and the larger context of ‘cosmopolitan Marseille’: The main aim was first of all to let a larger public discover the music, so there are several objectives one can say, to let a large public discover ­Comorian culture and culture in general. Then, to promote new talents, so to attract this youth by means of a casting to let them discover, discover new talents and to let them discover at the same time through the same occasion the music they hear but for which they did not take an interest in at the beginning. […] So already the youth could discover this music, appropriate it. The last objective was to mobilise the youth around an event, this was the case, with more than forty volunteers. […] As we were in a professional context one can say, so this allowed the youth to get out of their day-to-day life, to let them become aware that they are capable of doing things and not to leave them aside, which becomes negative, in the sense of doing whatever. It was also this, these three axes we tried to pursue at the same time. (Interview, 8 November 2013)

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The organiser’s description of the main objectives of the talent show indicates three main urgencies, namely the absence of Comorian culture in Marseille’s broader cultural market, a lack of interest for Comorian culture among younger generations and the need for activities addressing younger generations, revealing structures of social marginalisation affecting young ­Franco-Comorians and Black youth and youth of colour more generally (Gulian 2004, 126). Moreover, the focus on youth ref lects their important role in the context of ethnicised (self-)governing processes, as it is through the youth that Comorian culture and, as a second step, the ‘Comorian community’ is meant to be represented in the broader cultural market. As becomes evident from the quote, the event had two target groups, namely Franco-Comorian youth and a larger public. In Chapter 5, I show how members of Comorian communities intervened into dominant cultural markets in Marseille already in the mid-1990s pursuing the (same) aim of promoting Comorian music to a larger public. While the presence of Comorian culture as well as of Comorian artists has increased since then, the talent show indicates their ongoing marginalisation. In this regard, the context of Marseille-Provence as European Capital of Culture in 2013 needs to be kept in mind, in which artistic performances of Franco-Comorian artists took place.6 While the talent show was not part of this cultural policy framework, the reference indicates the event organisers’ objective to claim a space for Comorian culture within the broader context of ‘cosmopolitan Marseille’ promoted and represented by the ‘Capital of Culture’, as discussed in more detail in Chapter 4. The choice of the show venue then corresponds with this objective, as the same members of RASMI-Paca explain: One can say the Dock des Suds is an emblematic stage in Marseille, it is a well-known stage and it is also a stage, one can say, that is more ethnic, on the one hand and also regarding the financial means, as we are a young association. (Interview, 8 November 2013) The organiser addresses two important characteristics of the Dock des Suds, the financial availability as well as the ‘ethnic’ character, which ref lects discourses and practices of ethno-preneurialism. The talent show took place in the framework of the pôle événement, the ‘event section’ of the Dock des Suds. As explained by the development officer of the Dock des Suds, the principal aim of this program is to accompany the ‘local scene’ (Interview, 22 January 2015), which indicates its role as a ‘space of entry’ for local cultural actors to a broader cultural industry. In this regard, she underlines their cooperation with ‘community associations’, while describing the Dock des Suds as ‘non-communitarian’: First of all, not only is it not related to a community space and secondly, we offered them [RASMI-Paca] professional conditions, which is not the

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case everywhere. So, they arrive, they have the same conditions as the international superstar. (Ibid.) The Dock des Suds is presented as a professional space which offers ­community-related associations the means to ‘professionalise’ their cultural activities. Dichotomies can be observed between a non-ethnicised ‘professional culture’ and ethnicised community-related culture, connoted in contrast with ‘amateurism’. In a similar manner, the organising association RASMI-Paca presents the talent show as a rupture with community-related events, as proclaimed in a promotion video: “[E]nough with community halls, enough with the time when we met among Comorians” (Martiniky 2013a, min. 00:05:58– 00:06:62). The statement addresses and criticises the communitarised fixing of Comorian culture in the so-called salles de fête in the Northern periphery (see Chapter 4 on the Othering of this city part); it further points out that younger generations no longer identify with cultural practices pursued by older generations, as addressed by the youngest contestant: We, when we did this concert, we rather want to get to know Comorian music and not do a twarab. […] I think the young people will rather choose to take the path we took the last time than the path of twarabs. (Interview, 23 November 2013) The contestant refers to twarab events, which are part of regular fundraising events organised by Franco-Comorian associations. In contrast, younger generations are said to be more interested in getting to know Comorian ­culture, independently from the economic and social – that is, also ­customary – constraints of community-related cultural practices in the context of the Comorian diaspora (see Chapter 5 ; Blanchy 1998). Etoiles Rasmi reveals the temporal dimension of the dispositif of communitarisation: Existing ­community-related practices are framed as ‘problems’ on the part of younger ­generations and which results in a ‘need’ to change current cultural practices of Comorian communities in order to respond to the expectations of younger generations. In this regard, the Dock des Suds with its accompanying program met the expectations of younger generations, namely, to promote Comorian culture outside of community-related contexts. In spaces like the Dock des Suds, everybody – at least with knowledge of the rule(r)s – is said to get the possibility to participate, ref lecting discourses of a ‘free market’, where social categories like ethnicity are said not to matter. Yet, ethnicisation comes into play through the actors in focus who are ascribed a role of representing ‘communities’, which reveals ethno-preneurialism as a form of (self-)governing: On the one hand, ethnicised origin is meant not to matter for cultural entrepreneurs in a professional setting – that is, a ‘free market’. On the other hand, ethnicised

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origin is promoted as a cultural and economic resource, as ethnicised actors are asked to ‘professionalise’ cultural activities associated with ethnicised communities. Culture is framed as a property, which also results in the promotion of identity as a property “by its living heirs, who proceed to manage it by palpably corporate means: to brand it and sell it” (Comaroff and Comaroff 2009, 29). In line with such a logic, the event was promoted through various promotion clips, showing interviews with contestants and Comorian artists as well as recordings of the rehearsals published on the association’s Facebook page. The predominant use of the French language in the promotion videos ref lects the main target groups – a larger French public and younger Franco-­ Comorian generations who mostly do not speak Shingazidja. The selective use of Shingazidja in some videos (Martiniky 2013a, min. 00:06:34–00:06:38, 2013b, min. 00:01:45–00:02:20, min. 00:04:11–00:04:43), however, – on the part of older generation artists and event organisers – points out the promotion of ethnicised origin through language use, which also plays into logics of performing culture as a form of property, but also reveals the role of language as an important signifying practice for communitarisation processes. In addition, the event was promoted by mainstream French media: The president of RASMI-Paca was invited to a midday journal of the television channel France 3 and an evening journal of the same TV channel did a report on the event (‘12/13 Provence/Alpes’ 2013; ‘19/20 Provence/Alpes’ 2013). Moreover, the objective to promote Comorian culture in a broader cultural market can be observed in the decision to part from common means of mobilisation in community-related contexts – ref lected in personal invitation letters called billets d’honneur – and instead to promote the event through established ticket sale offices such as the FNAC (store specialised in books and consumer electronics), wholesale enterprises like Carrefour, or online platforms like digitick.com (Martiniky 2013c, min. 00:01:45–00:02:20). In this regard, my participation as a researcher in the volunteer activities of the event corresponded with the objective to attract a ‘larger public’, as becomes evident in the following extract of a preparation meeting of the volunteer group: I have been invited to a preparatory meeting for the volunteer group two weeks before the talent show. I stand up and explain that I am a PhD student from the University of Vienna and that I am part of a research project that aims at analysing how notions of Comorian diaspora are negotiated within popular culture practices; and given the event they organise I have asked whether I could participate in the volunteer group’s activities. After I have talked, a member of the organisational team emphasises that my interest shows the important role of the web presence of the association and the role of new technologies in promoting the event. (Ethnographic protocol, Etoiles Rasmi, 10 November 2013) The scene shows how my participation was framed in terms of the objective to mobilise a non-Comorian public through an increased web presence.

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In a photo collage published after the show on the association’s website, my double-role becomes obvious. In one photo, I am pictured among the volunteer group (RASMI-Paca 2013, min. 00:02:41) and in another one I am represented as an ‘Austrian’ who attended the concert (RASMI-Paca 2013, min. 00:01:02), marking my position in terms of nationality, which I read as ref lecting the event organisers’ interest in promoting the ‘internationality’ of the event. The attention of an Austrian researcher was hence strategically used by the organising team to perform ‘Comorianness’, indicating ethnicised relations: It is through ethnicising the Other that the ethnicised Self is being performed and vice versa (see Brubaker and Cooper 2000). However, by participating in the volunteer group, I did not only have the privilege of accompanying the volunteer group’s activities, but I also became part of the process of creating an event that promoted Comorian culture. The performativity of cultural production becomes apparent, as my participation negotiated the postcolonial dichotomy inscribed into practices of ethno-preneurialism in the sense of a white spectator consuming an ‘authentic’ Comorian cultural event. However, such a negotiation shall not imply me gaining some sort of ‘insider’ perspective; rather it shows how a dialogical research practice can contest Othering practices shaping especially postcolonial research settings (Fabian 1990, 764ff.). At this point, it is important to not lose sight of the main objective of the event, namely, to mobilise younger Franco-Comorian generations around Comorian culture. In doing so, the show promoted ethnicised origin as a shared form of identification. In this regard, the organising association ­R ASMI-Paca already presents a reform of locality-related forms of organisation in form of ‘village associations’, as different associations linked to the same locality – Mitsamiouli – are part of a federating association, putting forward the region instead of the town. Moreover, in the context of the volunteer activities – overseeing the accompanying activities such as the buffet, but also taking care of the contestants – RASMI-Paca cooperated with a youth group of another Franco-Comorian association, called Pwadzima (with ties to the region of Bambao, Ngazidja), which also shows the wish to bridge affiliations based on locality. However, the ongoing predominant role of locality in shaping Comorian positionalities becomes apparent, as the contestants presented themselves in promotion videos with regard to a city in France and a city on the Comoros, more specifically Ngazidja (Martiniky 2013c, min. 00:00:12–00:00:18). The talent show hence ref lects attempts to promote ethnicity instead of locality, meaning ‘Comorian’ instead of ‘Mitsamioulian’ (a person from the city of Mitsamiouli) for instance, whereas it also reveals the continuous importance of the social category of locality in the Franco-­ Comorian diaspora, also among younger generations. The win of Imane,7 the contestant representing the municipality of the organising association, underlines locality as central communitarising category, as she was elected by the public, consisting mainly of members of the same municipality. In line with such an impression, the earlier-mentioned member of the organisational team

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describes their strategy as a process, which indicates the wish not to perform a rupture with older generations but rather to continue community-building in another way: “We try already to open ourselves a­ lthough we know that it is not evident and that one needs to go slowly” (Interview, 8 November 2013). What is at stake is the representation as ethnicised community, a framing that becomes evident in one of the promotion videos stating that “our painters, our filmmakers, our actors, our singers” have “all as much talent as the others” (Martiniky 2013a, min. 00:06:02–00:06:06). The comparison with ‘others’ points out ethnicised self-governing in form of ethnicised discourses of representation in a context of cosmopolitan Marseille (see Gastaut 2003). The video then ends with a scene of children singing the Comorian hymn (Martiniky 2013a, min: 06:38– 06:41), which reveals the entanglement of discourses of ‘origin’, ‘diasporic community’ and ‘nationhood’; a relation Caglar (1997, 175) ascribes to hyphenated identities: “Clearly, hyphenated identities – German-Turks, ­British-Pakistanis, French-Algerians, European Muslims – equate ‘culture’, ‘nation’ and ‘community’”. Dominant multicultural industries are hence shaped by and shape ethnicised (self-)governing, as culture is ascribed to ethnicised communities, whereas culture also becomes a means for ethnicised actors to constitute themselves as communities. Ethnicity as a resource Ethno-preneurialism indicates a relation between culture and economy. At the heart of this relation is a framing of culture as a commodity and as a form of capital (Comaroff and Comaroff 2009, 32f.) – depending on who mobilises it. This connotation results in ethnicised self-governing, as ethnicised origin is mobilised as an economic and political resource on the part of ethnicised subjects and communities, as the accompanying activities of the talent show suggest. The show was accompanied by a buffet, in which food from different geographical locations was sold by Kom’Sucar – a start-up business of a Franco-Comorian female entrepreneur specialising in Comorian patisserie – older-generation women of the association RASMI-Paca and Alafou, an association not ascribed to any ethnicised community and based in the social centre AGORA in the neighbourhood Merlan in the fourteenth arrondissement. The ‘multicultural buffet’ manifests the commodification of culture, as culture in terms of food is promoted as a commodity. Moreover, food is promoted as a signifier for ethnicised community, which indicates the relationship between ethno-preneurialism and communitarisation processes in a context of postcolonial diaspora. The presence of Franco-Comorian politicians as well as of members of the Honorary Consulate of the Comoros at the event – depicted in the earlier-mentioned photo collage as “Consulate of the Comoros, deputies and entrepreneurs” (RASMI-Paca 2013, min. 00:03:10) – ref lects the promotion of ethnicised origin as an economic and political resource to the ‘community’ and its members, in France and in the context of the Comoros.

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From the side of younger generations, practising cultural entrepreneurship also entails processes of re-traditionalisation in terms of an ‘invention of tradition’ (Hobsbawm and Ranger 1983), as the decoration of the room of the buffet suggests. I am part of the group in charge of the decoration of the Salon Rouge, a smaller room next to the concert hall. The young women who are part of the group explain to me that they have prepared different items that will be placed inside the room. These items are meant to represent Comorian culture. The decoration comprises a large thin tarpaulin showing a beach, on which different items can be put separately. These items represent a beach bar, a volcano, an island as well as different birds, e.g. f lamingos. Apart from the wall decoration, the group also installs a table in the corner of the room. On the table, different items are placed: a sailing boat typical for Eastern Africa and the Indian Ocean known as dhow, different bowls braided from bamboo, a wooden instrument for carving out coconuts and different kinds of mashers. I have seen such mashers during wadaha events, women-only dancing events, regularly organised in Marseille. (Ethnographic protocol, Etoiles Rasmi, 10 November 2013) The described scene reveals the different relationship of younger ­generations towards the Comoros and Comorian culture. While the chosen images ­ref lect central ecological features of the Comoros – such as the volcanic structure or f lamingos as typical birds – the emphasis on nature evokes colonial ­d iscourses about ‘empty spaces’ of the global South that are ‘ready to be conquered’ (McClintock 1995, 30); or in terms of ethno-preneurialism, ‘ready to be commodified’ by being exposed. The exhibition of items ascribed the role of representing Comorian c­ ulture further indicates a shift in meaning in which objects of utility become ­commodity-like objects to be exhibited and sold. This shift ref lects generational relations, as can be seen with respect to the exhibition of the masher. The masher represents a tool, which is commonly used in wadaha events, women-only dancing events usually organised in the afternoon and often in relation with twarab concerts and mainly attended by older generations. The shift in meaning of objects related to Comorian culture hence coincided with a shift in cultural spaces, namely from the salles de fête where communityrelated events like wadahas usually take place, to an event hall representing ‘mixed communities’ and ‘cosmopolitan Marseille’. The exhibition of objects of utility – be it the dhow as a central object of maritime mobility or the masher as a common tool for cooking – turns them into ‘traditional objects’ associated with other spaces and times, hence reproducing traditionalising images of Comorian culture. In Chapter 5, I discuss how twarab events go hand in hand with re-­ traditionalisation processes in community-related contexts, as culture and

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twarab as a musical genre – combining inf luences from Egypt, the Arabian Peninsula, India and Europe with East African musical practices (see Topp Fargion 2014) – is framed as part of ‘custom’. The talent show then points out how re-traditionalisation continues, or can continue, from generation to generation and how it shapes cultural practices of diasporic communities in both marginalised and dominant cultural markets. In the context of the latter, re-traditionalisation takes place as the promotion of ethnicised origin as a resource – in cultural, economic and political terms – results in the framing of ethnicity as an identity of ‘progress’, of ‘modernity’ (see Chakrabarty 2013) in contrast to locality-related ‘traditional’ identities, associated with community-related contexts and the Comoros. Younger generations are (urged to) perform ‘origin’ as a space they ‘come from’, but which they have ‘left behind’, which reveals the interplay of assimilationist practices of French Republicanism and discourses and practices of diversity, in which ethnicised origin is connoted as a ‘value’ to be used and commodified (de Jong 2016, 48). However, and as shown in the next section, younger generations also used the show to emphasise their belonging to different communities in the context of Marseille and postcolonial France.

‘Youth of the quartiers’ as ethnicised Other The musical line-up of the show indicates the performance of younger generations as part of a diasporic community. In this regard, diasporic community was staged along different generations, with artists of older generations framing the space for the performances of the younger generation, as the former played at the beginning and the end of the talent show (Englert and Fritsch 2015, 10) Moreover, the music performed encompassed different ­music ­genres, ranging from (modern) twarab music – as presented by the group SAMBECO to afrofolk – presented by Soulaiman Mzé Cheikh – and Comorian variété and lullabies, performed by Zaïnaba Ahmed. The performances by the four contestants – Imane, Ibrahim, Laetitia and Mariah – included some of the songs by the artists opening and closing the show. In this context, a hip-hop performance by one of the contestants appears as a rupture in cultural representations of ethnicised community only at a first glance and as a continuity of cultural representations of youth of colour at a second glance. By interpreting a song of the well-known Marseille-based hip-hop group Psy 4 de la Rime, Franco-Comorian youth was represented as a youth grown up in the quartiers, in the social housing areas in the Northern peripheral zones of Marseille, the quartiers nord (see Chapter 4 on the North-South relation in the context of Marseille). As explained by a member of the organisational team, to some volunteers, the talent show was a possibility to get to know the Dock des Suds as a cultural space: “Because somehow, they allowed us to discover this world because the majority of the people who participated at Etoiles Rasmi were volunteers. There were some who did nonetheless know the milieu of

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concerts, but others didn’t” (Interview, 1 April 2015). The talent show aimed at ­offering younger generations the possibility of becoming acquainted with a cultural space they did not frequent or to which they did not have previous access. The use of the wording ‘allowed us’ reveals power relations between a dominant community, which ‘invites’ members of ethnicised communities to ‘get to know’ spaces associated with the ‘majority society’. Questions of access indicate ethnicised biopolitics, as ethnicised communities are ascribed to certain ‘cultures’ and ‘spaces’, shaping spatial and cultural boundaries between ethnicised communities and ‘mixed’ communities. Accordingly, in a news segment promoting the talent show on France 3, the reporter makes reference to the show venue as a “symbolic place for the mixing of cultures” (‘19/20 Provence/Alpes’ 2013, min. 00:02:05), thus ascribing the talent show a ‘mixing’ character. In contemporary public French discourse, the ‘mixing of cultures’ is celebrated as an ‘achievement’ of French Republicanism as much as a ‘challenge’ to it in terms of ‘integration’ (Dubois 2000, 17ff.). In this regard, in another interview, the earlier-cited member of the organisational team addresses a clash between dominant discourses of métissage and the marginalised realities youth of colour face in the context of the quartiers; he critically remarks, that in “France, the mixing of cultures does not happen” (Interview, 8 November 2013). Discourses of métissage therefore bring along the question of how much ‘mixing’ the Republic ‘tolerates’ and which form of ‘mixing’ is wanted and which not (Haritaworn 2012, 3f., 11). Discourses of métissage go hand in hand with discussions on ‘good’ versus ‘bad’ migrants, in which youth of colour have been marked as representing the latter and which ref lects the ongoing Othering of youth of colour as secondclass citizens (Bouamama 2006, 210ff.). Since the 1980s, predominantly ‘Maghrebian youth’ have been put under general suspicion of being potential ‘criminals’ and as a result, they have been represented as main scapegoats for a general ‘rise in criminality’ (Mucchielli 2004, 28). On the one hand, such a targeting of youth of colour indicates a “colonial fracture” ( fracture coloniale; Blanchard, Bancel, and Lemaire 2005) shaping class relations in postcolonial France. On the other hand, and as Wacquant (2008, 185) has observed in the context of Parisian banlieues in late 1980s and early 1990s, younger generations tend to be singled out in discourses of older residents, the police as well as social workers; a tendency which continues to be the case and which I could also observe with regard to discussions on youth in the context of Comorian communities in Marseille. Since the last decade, infrequent yet explicit framings of criminality as a ‘Comorian problem’ can be observed, most prominently ref lected in the statement of Claude Guéant – former minister of internal affairs from the conservative-right party then UMP (Union pour un mouvement Populaire/ Union for a Popular Movement), today Les Républicains – that the “reason for a lot of violence” was “Comorian immigration” (“Guéant stigmatise (aussi) les Comoriens” 2011, para. 1, translation K.F.) and which he states in the course of the right-wing TV programme Le Grand Jury RTL – LCI – Le

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Figaro.8 In the context of the talent show, ethnicised discourses on criminality were also articulated in a broadcast aired on France 3, as the moderator asked the president of RASMI-Paca whether their activities were meant to respond to the “problem of criminality” affecting the ‘Comorian community’ (‘12/13 Provence/Alpes’ 2013, 00:03:05). Such a framing of culture as a means to counter criminality can also be observed as a self-description, as a member of the organisational team explains: I think that there is a link between the criminality that affects this community that before was a community that never caused any problems, [that stayed] among itself and in fact this violence at present denigrates the community that is there. (Interview, 8 November 2013) The organiser depicts the picture from a ‘discreet community’ to a community ‘denigrated’ by current criminality; an opinion not only held by the interviewee, as becomes apparent in the following quote taken from an interview with a left-wing Franco-Comorian local politician in 2013. Framing recent criminality as ‘youth criminality’, he emphasises that it concerns “children who are from France, with problems linked to France, not linked to integration but to France” (Interview, 12 November 2013). The politician contests the above-mentioned Othering discourses towards a youth of colour which equate ‘criminality’ with a ‘lack of integration’ and instead situates the problematic of a rise of criminality in a context of (postcolonial) France (Bloom, Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009a, 3ff.). He shares a similar view as the member of the organisational team who addresses criminality as a result of racism and classism: “He will have problems to find a job […] there is always discrimination, and people in fact… apart from trying to free themselves from it, they will go into the direction of criminality in fact” (Interview, 8 November 2013). However, by underlining a former ‘discreet community’, both interview partners articulate dichotomies between ‘good’ versus ‘bad migrants’. The shift away from a ‘discreet community’ is further presented as a generational shift, which results in a framing of younger generations as a central population group in the context of ethnicised biopolitics, namely as a group that needs to be ‘regulated’ in order not to ‘harm’ the image of the ‘community’. In line with such an argumentation, the member of the organisational team emphasises their aim to promote a positive image of the quartiers: There were Maghrebians, Comorians, well the idea was to respond to the image of the city, to say that we are cosmopolitan, we grew up in the quartiers, we grew up with various nationalities, to me, well I am convinced that this is not a deviation […] We don’t exploit this wealth. […] The people feel themselves integrated, assimilated and we no longer ask ourselves this question, we still ask [it] here, so it is a bit like that,

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I think that exchange is good, to share, the exchange, to know what you eat in your country, how do you do, what you eat etc. (Interview, 8 November 2013) The event organiser presents the quartiers nord as ‘cosmopolitan spaces’. In d­ oing so, he contests homogenising discourses towards the quartiers populaires – working-class neighbourhoods – as ethnicised Other (Bloom, Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009b, 9f.). Moreover, he challenges assimilationist and integrationist discourses towards Black and populations of colour in France, which ref lect the ethno-particularism shaping discourses and practices of French Republicanism, in which the space of ‘Frenchness’ is not – or only partially in terms of assimilation – accessible to marginalised populations of the quartiers (Guénif-Souilamas 2006, 28). Against the backdrop of such ethno-particularism, the event organiser’s description of the quartiers evokes ethnicisation processes that Hall (1996b, 477) has described as an “ethnicity of the margins, of the periphery”, that is, a location from where one speaks to the dominant society. Different levels and processes of ethnicised biopolitics can be observed, as it is through ethnicisation that the quartiers are governed, while it is also through ethnicised self-representations that claims towards the Republic are articulated. With Werbner (2013, 416), one might describe this relation as “multiculturalism from above” versus “multiculturalism from below”, the former discrediting community funding as promoting ‘segregationist’ politics and the latter linking political claims to experiences of multiple identities in the face of intersectional power relations. The culture of the quartiers was present at the talent show in form of ­h ip-hop culture, as outlined earlier. Vincenzo, former member of Psy 4 de la Rime and now known as a solo artist, gave a short comment at the beginning of the show. The invitation of a hip-hop artist to an event focusing on Comorian culture highlighted Vincenzo’s ‘Comorian origin’, representing him as a role model to younger Franco-Comorian generations. Furthermore, staging hip-hop as a cultural reference presented younger Franco-Comorian generations as part of a “community of the quartier”, as a Franco-Comorian journalist describes it: Today there are more and more young people originating from the ­ omorian diaspora who are entirely French, who grew up here, who do C not consider themselves as being part of a community [refers to the Comorian community]. They are rather… they are rather part of a community of the quartier, the banlieue et cetera, than of the Comorian community. (Interview, 21 November 2013) The journalist addresses the constant racist Othering of youth of colour in France marking them as “immigrants while they have immigrated from nowhere” (Bouamama 2006, 202, translation K.F.). In this regard, he makes a difference between diaspora and community, as he refers to younger

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generations as part of the Comorian diaspora, though not necessarily as part of the Comorian community. While affirming experiences of diaspora, he contests ethnicisation processes and rather emphasises shared experiences among youth having grown up in the quartiers, in the banlieues, because of which different forms of community have emerged. While these positionalities are shaped by ethnicisation and racialisation processes, the intersection with class and generation is said to matter most with regard to (cultural) practices of community. The hip-hop performance by Laetitia then ref lects such a community of youth of the quartier. Her decision to interpret “Visage de la honte” (‘Face of Shame’; Psy 4 de la Rime 2013) indicates the intersection of ethnicisation, class and generation and how it affects younger generations. As Laetitia only interpreted the chorus, I also stick to this part of the lyrics: I evoked my chance, the money I earned, tell me whom I shall give account to, my parents hardly speak French, but I have been educated, I don’t have the face of shame. We aim high, we aim high, we aim high. (Psy 4 de la Rime 2013; translation K.F.) The chorus promotes socio-economic mobility of youth of colour. The emphasis on the knowledge of French affirms their positionality as French citizens, constantly denied by racist Othering practices. While affirming the difference in education among the parents’ generation and the younger generation, the notion of ‘shame’ indicates affective dimensions of racism (see Ahmed 2015; Tate 2016) which also shape the lives of younger generations, as they are supposed to negate ethnicised and racialised class origins. The title ‘face of shame’ literally addresses the embodied and affective dimensions of racist Othering, as it is through the face of younger generations that such a shaming is being contested. The wording ‘we aim high’ implies the interplay of such a contestation with an entrepreneurial spirit, which is ascribed to younger generations. The change from ‘I’ to ‘we’ can be read as emphasising a collective experience and, consequently, a collective empowerment. By promoting an entrepreneurial spirit, the song also plays into narratives of progress in which ethnicised origin is being left behind. Drawing on the example of Franco-Algerian soccer player Zinédine Zidane, Nacira Guénif-Souilamas (2009, 211) discusses the ambivalent relation between ethnicity and French Republicanism. She argues that Zidane became a symbol of France’s cherished ‘multiculturalism’ due to his ‘North African origin’. Yet, the glorification of ‘multiculturalism’ was constantly over-determined by an emphasis on ‘Republican values’, which let vanish ethnicised realities in the end while underlining his success as a soccer player. Ethnicised positionality can only be thematised as ‘origin’, but not as part of Republican subjectivity, and hence of Frenchness: “Ethnicity has no place within the discourse of the ‘egalitarian’ and meritocratic Republic, which can sanction only a conventional rags-to-riches tale with no mention of ethnic identity” (ibid., 211).

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The promotion of ethnicised origin through ethno-preneurialism then reveals the ethnicised biopolitics inscribed into French Republicanism, resulting in a connotation of ethnicity as ambivalent category itself: On the one hand, ethnicised communities are governed as origin is connoted and used as a resource for upward social mobility – ref lecting processes of integration through ethnicisation (Çakır and Fritsch 2021, 112); on the other hand, the affirmation of ethnicised realities and positionalities tends to question dominant practices of French Republicanism and thus needs to be constantly re-framed – both on the part of political and cultural institutions and ethnicised subjects – as part of individual social mobility, of the individual ethnicised entrepreneurial self, which results in ethnicised self-governing in the context of dominant cultural markets. It is against such an ambivalent relation between ethnicisation and French Republicanism that younger generations articulated ‘Franco-­ Comorianness’ as a form of subjectivation in the talent show.

The performativity of Franco-Comorianness The songs the talent show contestants performed did not represent the ­primary music genre they were used to performing, as outlined by two ­contestants who had once performed at twarab concerts (Interviews, 20 ­November 2013 and 8 January 2015). Moreover, in interviews conducted with two of the female contestants, they emphasised their interest in other music genres, such as gospel, pop and soul music (Interviews, 20 November 2013 and 23 November 2013). The most experienced, oldest – he was 35 years old at the time of the concert – and only male contestant had already performed in Shingazidja various times, as he himself uses Shingazidja as well as musical inf luences from the Comoros in his artistic work, which he refers to as ‘World Music’ (Interview, 8 January 2015). In spite of the different experiences of performing Comorian songs as well as of singing in Shingazidja, the contestants emphasised that their participation in the talent show was related to the wish to approach their ‘origins’. In a similar manner, a member of the organisational team explains that the talent show was meant to “allow the youth to discover, to re-discover their culture” (Interview, 1 April 2015). By using the words ‘discover’ and then ‘re-discover’, Comorian culture is framed as a “search for origins” (Brah 1996, 194), which indicates the performative role of music in shaping diasporic forms of subjectivation among younger generations. A performative approach to subjectivation asks how discourses are b­ eing practiced – in the sense of speech acts as well as (bodily) practices – as it is “the reiterative and citational practice by which discourse produces the ­effects that it names” (Butler 2011, xii). I am hence interested in how younger ­Franco-Comorian generations perform ethnicised origin in (self-)representations and cultural practices: How are social categories like gender or generation negotiated in performances of origin? How do community-related codes and norms shape discourses of origin? Which practices of staging – such as

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language performance, bodily practices, types of clothing – accompany such performances? While discourses depend on subjects performing them, it is also the power of reiteration that opens possibilities for deferring dominant discourses (ibid., 177). As Tate (2013, 225f.) argues with respect to Black diasporic communities in the UK, it is not only whiteness that works as a regulatory ideal, but also Blackness, which is accompanied by essentialising discourses. A performative approach to ethnicity and race is interested in the effects of “racial formations” (Muñoz 2006, 675), focusing on the question “what race does” (ibid., 679). Throughout the analysis, I will situate performances of ethnicised origin of younger Franco-Comorian generations within ethnicised biopolitics, shaped by a marking of Black youth and youth of colour as ethnicised Other on the part of the dominant society on the one hand, and ascriptions of ethnicised origin on the part of older generations, on the other hand. It is against this background that the contestants identify as ‘Franco-Comorian’. When one contestant in her mid-20s elaborates on how she refers to herself in the face of ethnicised and racialised categories in postcolonial France, she addresses racist Othering: If somebody asks me where I come from, I say that I am Comorian, I don’t say that I am French. Even though I was born in France, I don’t deny the fact that I am Franco-Comorian. Even though I was born in France, I will not say ‘I am French’. “What? She is French?” I am French or I am… “Ah, where does your colour come from?” [laugh] I am Comorian. (Interview, 20 November 2013) The interviewee’s fictive dialogue with an imagined Othering Other ­situates her self-positioning as both ‘Franco-Comorian’ and ‘Comorian’ – but ­explicitly not as merely ‘French’ – in a broader context of racism and racialised notions of citizenship in France, where skin functions as an embodied marker of Othering (Fassin 2009, 129f.). I consider the fictive dialogue as also ­ref lecting the racialised relation between her as a Black young woman and me as a white, slightly senior, woman asking her about her self-descriptions. Her discussion of everyday experiences of racism in France can then be read as indirectly addressing the Othering practices inscribed in the interview situation. Yet, it is also my positionality as Austrian and not French, which might have allowed a thematisation of racist experiences in France (see Chapter 3 on an in-depth ref lection of my own positionalities during research). In addition to Othering practices from the dominant society, older ­generations articulate ethnicising ascriptions towards younger generations. In the report about the talent show on France 3, a woman, presented as part of the parents’ generation and related to RASMI-Paca, addresses the ‘lack of ­Comorian culture’ among younger generations: Our children who are born here, they don’t learn Comorian, in fact they are too much with the youth of the cités, they speak their language, they

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forget that they come from the Comoros in fact. Yet, everyone must preserve his_her language, his_her culture. (‘19/20 Provence/Alpes’ 2013, min. 00:01:33–00:01:50) The woman addresses the social positioning of younger Franco-Comorian generations as part of the ‘youth of the quartier’, whose culture she does not consider as their ‘real culture’. In this respect, a performative role of language can be identified, as she refers to it as a central practice to perform belonging to a community, be it the community of the ‘youth of the quartier’ or the ­‘Comorian community’. The role of language as a signifier for origin is also addressed by the earlier-mentioned contestant as she states: “My greatest shame is to not speak my own language” (Interview, 20 November 2013). The notion of shame reveals the affective constitution of ethnicised and racialised (non-)belonging (see Tate 2016), characterised by Othering – namely as not ‘Comorian enough’ – on the part of older generations. Against this backdrop, contestants position themselves as both French and Comorian, as can be seen in the quote of an interview with a by then 13-year-old contestant: So what does it mean to me, to me origins isn’t where I am born, but my roots, it is who I am, it is not my country, to me I am French, and this is what I am, I am French, because if one tells me “stay with a Comorian or stay with a French person”, I will rather stay with the French person than with the Comorian person, because the Comorian person will have principles which I won’t have. (Interview, 23 November 2013) The contestant differentiates between ‘her country’, which is France, and her ‘roots’ which she uses as a synonym for ‘origins’, hence articulating the common idea of fixed ‘roots’ that also go along with a spatial location, that is the Comoros. The emphasis on her place of birth evokes French discourses and practices of citizenship which revolve around the droit du sol, according to which one becomes a French citizen if one is born on French territory.9 While she articulates a common French discourse of citizenship, by means of emphasising her ethnicised ‘roots’, she contests assimilationist discourses, which equate any reference to ethnicised or racialised origin with a denial of Frenchness (Bloom, Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009a, 6). What becomes evident is the earlier-mentioned relation between racism and a reclaiming of ethnicised origin, a relation Paul Gilroy states as central in the context of the Black Atlantic diaspora: [T]he need to locate cultural or ethnic roots and then to use the idea of being in touch with them as a means to reconfigure the cartography of dispersal and exile is perhaps best understood as a simple and direct response to the varieties of racism which have denied the historical character of black experience and the integrity of black cultures. (Gilroy 1993, 201)

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As discussed in Chapter 5, racialised positionalities in the context of the Comorian diaspora can and should not be fixed within discourses of Blackness. However, and as mentioned earlier, the racialised signifier of skin and shade also shapes racialised and ethnicised positionalities of younger Franco-­Comorian generations. In the quote above, the youngest contestant does not refer to a racialised positionality with regard to her ‘roots’, but clearly articulates a notion of rootedness – as a spatial and cultural reference – to express forms of belonging in a context of diaspora. In this regard, she expresses an ambivalent relationship to Comorian culture. In a similar way, another contestant addresses differences in socialisation between her and her parents’ generation: My mother came here with the pure Comorian tradition let’s say […] Her husband was from Moroni [capital of the Union of the Comoros]. […] Because in fact there the Comorian tradition demands that every person… or that every person marries someone of the same place. […] For example a Comorian man from Moroni must marry a Comorian woman from Moroni. […] We don’t blame them, but it is that we came to France, we grew up with another culture, so we have problems with the culture, which is imposed on us. (Interview, 20 November 2013) The contestant refers to the Great Marriage (Grand Mariage), the customary marriage, as a signifying institution for ‘being Comorian’ and according to which one is meant to marry a person from the same locality, also in a context of diaspora (see Blanchy 2010 on the Grand Mariage). While these norms are presented as having shaped the family reality of her parents, she emphasises that to her customary norms are an ‘imposed’ culture. The only male contestant also addresses the role of the Great Marriage in determining one’s belonging to the ‘Comorian community’: For me the music completed the wish to be Comorian, without passing through a system by necessity, which did not appeal to me, this Grand Mariage, this system, this way of putting the honour of the family at the centre as a social system, it is a social system. […] So we, if we still want to be both, how to do it? We cannot reject [one or the other] and so my way of contributing, my way of being Comorian was to show to my parents that I was interested in the culture, that I understand her [refers to his mother], I know the country and besides this is what I say in one of my songs on my last album, I say ‘M’Comori’. […] I say that to be Comorian it is not to have black skin, it is to know the history, to know those who came, those who left, so this is a bit what I say in this song, this is what I try to show to my surrounding and this is why I accepted to get on stage, because you asked me why I needed to please her [his mother], to show, it is in this sense, I can be Comorian, mother, father or my community, I can be like you (…) in my way, that’s it. (Interview, 8 January 2015)

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By referring to his song ‘M’Comori’,10 which literally means ‘Comorian’, the contestant emphasises the role of music as a practice to show belonging to a Comorian diaspora. He offers an understanding of diasporic belonging as linked to knowledge on history and culture, and not as the result of racialised markers such as skin colour, thus contesting racialised biopolitics on the part of Black communities based on “culture, colour and consciousness” (Tate 2005, 152). While to the contestant, a positionality as Franco-Comorian entails an active engagement with Comorian culture, he also contests specific cultural practices related to custom. The critical positions of the contestants ref lect a more general position among younger generations towards customary norms, as discussed in Chapter 7. Against this backdrop, the contestants articulate the wish to show their belonging to a Comorian diaspora not by obeying to customary practices, but rather by appropriating and interpreting Comorian culture through musical practices. The performativity of Franco-Comorianness reveals itself in the performance of Comorian culture through music, since the dominant notions of Comorianness which are at work in customary practices are deferred, while ethnicised origin, and with it belonging to a diasporic community, is simultaneously affirmed, r­ e-appropriated and negotiated through music. Community, tradition and gendered practices of transmission In one of the promotion videos published on the association’s Facebook page, Zaïnaba Ahmed, one of the Comorian artists invited to perform at the event, emphasises that the talent show is as much about “willing to preserve our music, our patrimony” (Martiniky 2013b, min. 00:00:19–00:00:25) as it is about “thinking about the future, because in all things there needs to be a continuity” (ibid., min. 00:00:27–00:00:32). The framing of the talent show as a preservation of culture as well as a means to enable (cultural) continuity indicates generational relations in a context of diaspora mediated through music: It is the younger generation that is meant to pass on the musical and hence cultural patrimony. In the same video, Mariah, one of the contestants, refers to this expectation as a challenging task: “Let’s say that I have the tradition on my shoulders, and I have to pass this on” (ibid., min. 00:05:49–00:05:54). As will be shown in this section, it is through the practice of transmitting Comorian music from older to younger generations and through the performance of this music genre in a space associated with ‘cosmopolitan Marseille’ that Comorian music was (re-)traditionalised. In this regard, gendered practices of transmission are part of re-traditionalisation processes, but also ref lect gendered relations as constitutive to the formation of diasporic groups (see Anthias 1998; Brah 1996; Dhawan 2013). As a contestant elaborates on her Franco-Comorianness, she explicitly ­locates Comorian culture ‘at home’: I am born in France, with the French culture, at home when I come home, my mother plays Comorian songs, we sing together, really it is…

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one must not forget. I cannot make a separation between the two cultures, it is not possible, two cultures, it is not possible. (Interview, 20 November 2013) The contestant articulates Franco-Comorianness as ref lecting a double culture, while at the same time contesting the idea of separate cultures as if they existed side by side. Instead, she emphasises the day-to-day experience of living with different cultures, which she ascribes to different spaces: the ‘French culture’ is associated with the ‘outside’ world, while ‘Comorian culture’ is ascribed to the ‘home’, which she also presents as a gendered space linked to her mother. Ascriptions of French culture to the public sphere and Comorian culture to the private sphere ref lect gendered and ethnicised biopolitics going along with a public-private divide and ascribing ethnicised origin to the family space (Bouamama 2006, 212). In the face of such gendered and ethnicised public-private relations, mothers are presented as main actors in transmitting Comorian culture, as outlined by the youngest contestant and her mother who was also present at the interview: I was there to help her to learn them [the lyrics], because it is true someone who does not speak Comorian f luently and who wants to speak in Comorian, it is for sure regarding the pronunciation, it is true that it is a bit hard […] one hears that it is someone who is not Comorian […] When she sings one would state that she was born on the Comoros, because she does not have any accent, she pronounced the words well and this is what I wanted her to convey, I did not want… It is not a French person who sings in Comorian, no no no, it is a Comorian that sings in Comorian. (Interview, 23 November 2013) Ethnicised biopolitics become apparent, as the mother links notions of ‘authentic’ ethnicity to the embodied practice of pronunciation. It is, however, the performativity inscribed into this learning process of authenticity that reveals the performativity of ethnicised identity and also of its apparent ‘natural’ transmission – from mother to daughter. Her daughter then explains how learning Comorian songs has affected her self-perception: My motivation was rather that until now I have never sung Comorian music, although it is my origins, I listened to it and it is the music of my parents, father and mother, so I tried to look what it did to me to sing the songs my parents listen to. So after all it is rather this which attracted me and when I was into it, uh, I was as much excited as if it was the music in the end, the music that I have always sung. (Interview, 23 November 2013) As the contestant explains, it was through learning the songs that they – and given their representative role is also Comorian culture – became part of

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‘her-self ’. So, let me shortly elaborate on the type of songs interpreted. In the context of the show, the four contestants sang music from artists such as Zaïnaba Ahmed, Sulaiman Mzé Cheikh, Chamsia Sagaf or Salim Ali Amir, whose music ranges from afrofolk to variété comorienne, a type of pop music, to twarab.11 However, in the course of the talent show, these different music genres were presented as part of ‘Comorian tradition’, on the part of the contestants, older generations and the public. As a female contestant in her mid-20s, cited earlier, elaborates on the characteristics of the songs she interpreted, ascriptions of ‘tradition’ can be observed: The traditional song is something particular, while RnB soul is RnB soul in fact, how to explain it. It is something everybody can remaster. […] But the tradition is something so particular to the Comorian community, one cannot combine it with other things. The thing is to keep this tradition and then one can add other things, but it remains a tradition. It is the Comorian tradition, it is Comorian music, it is like that and like that. (Interview, 20 November 2013) The contestant ascribes the characteristics of being ‘universal’ to music genres like RnB or soul, while framing Comorian tradition as consisting of practices that not ‘everybody’ can perform. The ‘Comorian tradition’ is presented as a fixed cultural practice, which, however, can change while remaining a tradition, indicating re-traditionalisation processes. Her framing of tradition as fixed but changing indicates a notion of tradition as performative – as depending on a continuous iteration through practices – which I have discussed in depth in Chapter 5 with regard to the popular culture practice of twarab as representing Comorian tradition. The question at stake is then how the contestants engaged with tradition in the context of their performances. In this regard, the same contestant explicitly elaborates on the performance style and community-related norms regarding clothing and performance style that she was meant to follow during the talent show. She explains that “in the Comorian community modesty is emphasised” (Contestant Etoiles Rasmi, 20 November 2013), which she links to the role of Muslim religion as well as “culture” on the Comoros. Regarding her own performance onstage, it meant to not “shake your body, there is nothing shaky there [laughs]” and to refrain from “showing one’s body, one must not be provocative” (ibid.). Gendered and ethnicised biopolitics are addressed, as it is the young female body that shall conform to community norms in terms of religious and cultural codes (Anthias 1998, 572). At this point, however, it is important to note that none of the contestants – male and female – did perform in traditional clothing. Rather, the style of clothing was very diverse and ref lected personal choices, as the same contestant cited above explains: In her first performance, she wanted to stay “simple and classic”, with a skirt and a blouse; for the faster song, though, she wanted

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to “feel more comfortable with the song” and hence “put on trousers” (Interview, 20 November 2013). Laetitia for example remained with her hip-hop style – Jeans, waistcoat and cap – during her performance of the Comorian song. The choice of clothing ref lects the contestants’ wish to feel comfortable on stage, which entailed a process to consider expectations from Comorian communities but also to adjust them according to own styling wishes. At this point, I want to get back to the notion of modesty, drawing on the ref lection of the youngest contestant, aged 13 at the time of the concert, as she offers a rather different understanding of modesty and community: Everybody who heard me singing the first song, they were there, the hand on the heart, as it was a bit a song about the love for the homeland, a little bit. […] After all I think one can convey a lot through gestures, because there is not much modesty, well, there is modesty, but at the same time not, when it is about someone from our family. (Interview, 23 November 2013) Modesty is presented as a community-related norm, yet it is said to matter less in community-related contexts. It is hence rather presented as a norm put towards the ‘outside’, the dominant society, while within the community, here the family, modesty is not so important. This very description of her performance reveals that to her the performance was clearly about representing and performing community. It was the gestures that were the means of creating and representing a community between the contestant and the public, which had the effect that her mother emphasises in the same interview that during her performance they “felt like among family members” (ibid.). The performativity of music as a communitarising practice becomes evident, which also challenges the Eurocentric primacy of textuality by putting the focus on “mimesis, gesture, kinesis and costume” (Gilroy 1993, 78). The prominent role of lullabies then ref lects the gendered performativity of the communitarising role of music in a context of diaspora. In explaining her song choice at the talent show, a female contestant emphasised that the song she was about to perform – Myadi from Zaïnaba Ahmed – was a song ‘every Comorian child’ had been sung to sleep with (Ethnographic protocol, Etoiles Rasmi, 10 November 2013). Another female contestant also notes that as she was about to listen to the song she eventually chose at home, her mother explained that this song had been her lullaby as a child, which then motivated her to choose it (Interview, 23 November 2013). Lullabies are presented as a transgenerational practice of communitarisation, mediated through motherhood. In doing so, lullabies reflect the intersection of gender and ethnicisation in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation, as women – equated with mothers – are ascribed a role of “carrier[s] of culture” (Anthias 1998, 573) and hence as central actors in performing diasporic community. Such connotations further reflect gendered divisions of labour, ascribing mothers to the private home where cultural transmission is practised in form of reproductive tasks like childcare.

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The intersection of gendered and ethnicised biopolitics can be further observed in form of the figure of the mother who sacrifices everything for her ‘country’. As the mother of a contestant explains, the lullaby “Chamama” by Chamsia Sagaf, interpreted by her daughter in the talent show, refers to the time of colonisation and encourages people to go and work on the fields and by the sea in order to ‘rebuild the country’. The song then tells the story of a mother who has to leave her children behind “to wake up my ­country, to lift up my country” (Interview, contestant and mother, Etoiles Rasmi, 23 ­November 2013). The song and its framing by the contestant’s mother ­articulate the image of mothers as important actors in nation-building processes in the context of colonisation, ref lecting the interplay of ethnicisation, gendered biopolitics and nationhood in (post-)colonial contexts. The self-sacrificing mother is then addressed in a context of diaspora in France, as the other interviewed female contestant states: “They [their mothers] came here, they worked here, they did everything for their children […] so that their children make it. They have a mentality of fighters, that’s it they are fighters” (Interview, 20 November 201). As she explains further, her decision to choose a certain lullaby was due to the fact that it reminded her of her mother. Performing a lullaby at the talent show becomes an act of recognition of her mother’s reproductive and productive work. Accordingly, the above-mentioned mother of the other interviewed contestant expresses the valorising role of seeing her daughter perform songs they usually sing at home: “We sang it at home as a lullaby, as she said it, but I have never sung it in front of everyone, it was the pride of seeing her sing it” (Interview, 23 November 2013). The daughter is framed as representing cultural practices transmitted to her by her mother and which usually remain in the private sphere of the home, associated with the community. The performance of lullabies thus claims a space for gendered and ethnicised popular culture in the context of cosmopolitan Marseille. Given the accounts of the contestants, this performance was clearly meant to acknowledge the work – productive and reproductive – of their mothers. The culture of lullabies obviously presents a popular culture, in terms of cultural practices situated in ethnicised working-class and diasporic community realities (Hall 1998, 449). Its representation in a context of multicultural markets, however, results in its re-traditionalisation, both on the part of younger generations and the public. The representational logic inscribed in practices of ethno-preneurialism contributes to the view of community-related cultural practices as a resource; a form of capital younger generations have access to and which they are meant to represent to a larger public in terms of ethnicised origin. Such ascriptions become apparent as one member of the jury, the member of the association Alafou, a cooperation partner in the show, states: Even if we weren’t there [on the Comoros] physically, we were there with the heart, so really thanks to the artists for representing their parents. The

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traditional artists I really think that it was fortunate for us that RASMI was able to make this happen. (Ethnographic protocol, Etoiles Rasmi, 10 November 2013) The member of the jury assigns the role of representing ‘their parents’ in a space associated with ‘cosmopolitan Marseille’ to the contestants. When she refers to the artists who performed at the beginning and the end – S­ AMBECO, Mzé Cheikh and Zaïnaba Ahmed – as ‘traditional artists’ – she – similar to the contestants themselves – re-traditionalises the popular Comorian music that is associated with the parents’ generation. Consequently, the older generation and ‘their’ cultural practices are presented as ‘traditional’, whereas younger generations are represented as embodying ‘progress’ and ‘modernity’.

A politics of ethnicity The talent show Etoiles Rasmi shows how ethno-preneurialism in the context of diaspora and dominant ‘multicultural’ markets is shaped by and shapes the dispositif of communitarisation. On the one hand, discourses and practices of ethno-preneurialism govern ethnicised communities, as culture is framed as a commodity and representation of the group. On the other hand, it is through the mobilisation and performance of ethnicised origin as a resource that ethnicised actors govern themselves and negotiate a place for ethnicised communities within cosmopolitan Marseille. In this context, younger generations articulate forms of subjectivation as Franco-Comorians, which contest homogenising notions of both Frenchness and Comorianness. Although the hyphenation points to the negotiation of both categories, it should not be read as a form of equation; rather, the hyphenation indicates a relation between dominant and marginalised communities, both of which affect younger generations by ascribing them to a specific ethnicity. Franco-Comorianness then presents a mode of re-positioning oneself within ethnicised biopolitics, as it is the reference to one positionality that makes possible the negotiation of the other. In identifying as Franco-Comorian, younger generations contest assimilationist discourses of Frenchness and Comorianness. With regard to the latter, practices of transmission through music reveal the intersection of gendered and ethnicised biopolitics in shaping practices of custom, tradition and community (see Tate 2005). However, it is also through music that younger generations position themselves as part of multiple communities: the Comorian community, the national community, the community of the quartiers. The mobilisation and performance of community membership through ­ethno-preneurialism further reveals the ambivalent relationship between French Republicanism and ethnicity. This ambivalence is manifested in younger generations, who are meant to represent ethnicised origin and urged to become ethnoentrepreneurs, albeit without linking ethnicity to ­community ­membership. Rather, ethnicity, in this view, should only be employed as an individual resource and/or as a space and (collective) identity one ‘left behind’. In the course

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of ethno-preneurialism, the apparent culture of origin is projected to ‘another’ space, generation and time and thus reveals re-traditionalisation through commodification in the context of multicultural markets. I continue to discuss this ambivalent relationship between French Republicanism and ethnicity in the next chapter with regard to local politics, reflected in the promotion of ethnicised origin as a resource, on the one hand, and a continuous Othering of ethnicised communities, on the other hand.

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168  Ethno-Preneurialism and Franco-Comorianness Martiniky, Ali. 2013c. ‘Les Etoiles au Docks’. RASMI-Paca. Retrieved 10 October 2020 from, https://www.facebook.com/rasmi.fr/videos/613421662042212. McClintock, Anne. 1995. Imperial Leather: Race, Gender, and Sexuality in the Colonial Contest. New York: Routledge. Mucchielli, Laurent. 2004. ‘Délinquance et immigration en France : un regard ­sociologique’. Criminologie 36 (2): 27–55. doi:10.7202/007865ar. Muñoz, José Esteban. 2006. ‘Feeling Brown, Feeling Down: Latina Affect, the ­Performativity of Race, and the Depressive Position’. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society 31 (3): 675–688. doi:10.1086/499080. RASMI-Paca. 2013. ‘ETOILES RASMI En Photo’. RASMI-Paca. https://www. facebook.com/rasmi.fr/videos/642553205795724. Tate, Shirley A. 2005. Black Skins, Black Masks: Hybridity, Dialogism, Performativity. Aldershot, Hants, England; Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Tate, Shirley A. 2013. ‘The Performativity of Black Beauty Shame in Jamaica and Its Diaspora: Problematising and Transforming Beauty Iconicities’. Feminist Theory 14 (2): 219–235. doi:10.1177/1464700113483250. Tate, Shirley A. 2016. ‘“I Can’t Quite Put My Finger on It”: Racism’s Touch’. ­Ethnicities 16 (1): 68–85. doi:10.1177/1468796814564626. Topp Fargion, Janet. 2014. Taarab Music in Zanzibar in the Twentieth Century: A Story of ‘Old Is Gold’ and Flying Spirits. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Psy 4 de la Rime. 2013. “Visage de la honte”. 4ème Dimension (CD). Paris: Def Jam Recordings France. Wacquant, Loïc. 2008. Urban Outcasts: A Comparative Sociology of Advanced Marginality. Reprinted. Cambridge: Polity Press. Werbner, Pnina. 2013. ‘Everyday Multiculturalism: Theorising the Difference ­between “Intersectionality” and “Multiple Identities”’. Ethnicities 13 (4): 401–419. doi:10.1177/1468796813483728.

Notes 1 The concert is accessible on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZnMyH6Hios, last accessed 29 November 2021. 2 RASMI stands for Rassemblement des Mitsamiouliens, ‘Assembly of Mitsamioulians’. It is an organisation operating in all of France. There are currently three regional associations, with one based in the region of Paris, one in the region Rhône Alpes, and another one in the region Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur (Paca). The association focuses on activities with regard to youth, women, and development projects (Martiniky 2013a, min. 00:00:28-00:03:31). 3 Policies promoting entrepreneurship can also be observed in the context of ­cultural policies in France, ref lected for example in a report on entrepreneurship in the cultural sector in France (Hearn 2014), provided to the Minister of Economy and the Minister of Culture. 4 All interviews were held in French, were translated by me, and are here presented in an English translation. The same applies to the transcription of speeches in ethnographic protocols and the audio-visual documents used in this chapter. 5 While authors like Stuart Hall (1996) have emphasised the potential of hyphenated identity in contesting essentialising notions of identity and culture, others have criticised the fixing of multiple identities in two categories that eventually reproduce equations between culture-nation-identity (Caglar 1997, 175). 6 Marseille-Provence 2013 hosted the musical performance Heza le chemin du taarab (see Chapter 4), the theatre performance Kara l’épopée comorienne, and the hip-hop performance of the Franco-Comorian rap artist Soprano.

Ethno-Preneurialism and Franco-Comorianness  169 7 Imane participated in The Voice 2017, see https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=kUxdVm8QGmI, last accessed 20 November 2021. 8 After various protests from the side of Comorian communities – both individuals and associations – in Marseille (see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ew6Jwo3Dp8, last accessed 29 November 2021), Guéant publicly ‘corrected’ his proposition, explaining that he was referring to “Comorian immigrants” and not “French people of Comorian origin” (‘Claude Guéant “regrette” ses propos sur les Comoriens de Marseille’ 2013, para 2). Guéant hence articulated a classic racist discourse of ‘divide and rule’, playing off ‘Comorian immigrants’ against Franco-Comorians. 9 While the common discourse in France emphasises a droit du sol, in fact there is both, the droit du sol (‘right of the soil’; birthright citizenship) and the droit du sang (‘right of blood’; see “L’attribution de la nationalité française” n.d.). For a critical discussion on the droit du sol in the context of (im)migration, see Fassin and Mazouz (2007, 724f.). 10 See https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AN9jwlxF1eg, last accessed 20 N ­ ovember 2021. 11 For information on Comorian artists, see https://www.afrik-musique.com/ les-comores/pays/13 and http://www.comores-online.com/mwezinet/musique/ bios.htm (last accessed 20 November 2021). For snapshots of the music of the four artists, see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gf KLG9XtsIk, https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=dlOvKKzDQ8I, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VRsh-y2eQ_Q, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBSW1nif lIQ, last accessed 15 November 2021.

7 Politics of Communitarisation and Postcolonial Mimicry

Introduction In the two previous chapters, I have discussed ethnicised biopolitics in terms of the mobilisation of ethnicised ‘origin’ and ‘community’ as economic and cultural resources in the context of cultural markets. In this chapter, I focus on ethnicisation as a political resource (see Universität zu Köln 2015) by elaborating on the mobilisation of Comorian communities during the municipal elections in March 2014 and the departmental elections in May 2015. I argue that the respective mobilisations ref lect ethnicised biopolitics, as Comorian communities are marked as ‘objects of governing’ (see Foucault 1982) to be mobilised and represented. At the same time, however, Comorian communities and Franco-Comorian politicians also govern themselves by mobilising ethnicised discourses and practices (see Rosenfeld 2013 on political mobilisations of Comorian communities in Paris). In France, political mobilisations by means of ethnicised categories are usually referred to as ‘communautarisme’, ‘communitarianism’, and seen as ­opposed to Republicanism, as it is considered to undermine the principles of Republican citizenship: In the French context, the term “communautarisme” seems to cover any claims of membership to a community based on race, religion, and ­ethnicity, with entities seen as contradicting the only meaningful community in France, the national community, which is defined by republican citizenship. (Diouf 2012, 53) From a postcolonial perspective, the discourse of communautarisme ref lects dichotomies of a Republican ‘we’ and ethnicised and racialised ‘Others’. It is rooted in colonialism and continues to exist with regard to the Othering of Black populations and populations of colour in contemporary France ­today (see e.g. Bancel, Blanchard, and Vergès 2003; Guénif-Souilamas 2006a; ­Mazouz 2017). I discuss political mobilisations of ethnicised communities and thus also communautarisme from the analytical perspective of the dispositif of

DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665-7

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communitarisation, that is, how ethnicised community is brought into being through discourses, practices, institutions and subjectivations (see Chapter 2). The central question which then guides this analysis is how Franco-­Comorian politicians and political parties mobilise Comorian communities, and, conversely, how discourses, practices and institutions of Comorian communities affect Franco-Comorian politicians. I analyse two campaigns: first, a collective named Collectif des Indignés de la Cité Phocéenne (Collective of the Indignants of the Phocaean City; CICP) that was created for the sole purpose of the municipal elections in Marseille in 2014, assembling political actors of the Comorian diaspora from different political sides, except for the Front National (FN), today Rassemblement National (National Rally; RN)1; second, a campaign formed in the course of the departmental elections of 2015 in the département Bouches-du-Rhône, mobilising Comorian communities around Ali Mohamed, long-time president of the Franco-Comorian association ANIF (Association Ngomé d’Itsandra en France/Association Citadel of Itsandra in France).2 Based on expert interviews (Bogner, Littig, and Menz 2005) with actors involved in the mobilisations and participant observations (Breidenstein et al. 2013) at main events, my interest is in describing the relationship between communitarisation and local politics as part of postcolonial power relations in Marseille.3 In this regard, I propose an understanding of the politics of communitarisation as a form of postcolonial mimicry. To Homi K. Bhabha (1994), colonial mimicry and its postcolonial articulations present a form of post-/colonial agency for ethnicised subjects as well as a feature of post-/colonial modes of governing through ethnicised Othering. Focusing on colonial India in The Location of Culture (1994), Bhabha refers to mimicry as “the most elusive and effective strategy of colonial power and knowledge” (ibid., 85). He shows how the imitation of the colonisers’ norms and culture was as much part of colonial education and governing as it was a space to negotiate colonial power on the part of colonised subjects. Thinking France as a postcolonial context, I seek to show how mimicry as a (colonial) strategy continues to be deployed in form of assimilationist citizenship practices and Othering as well as to demonstrate how communitarisation practices result in negotiations of French Republicanism and notions of Frenchness on the part of members of ethnicised and diasporic communities (see Bloom, Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009; Guénif-Souilamas 2006b). I look at this form of agency through the subject position of the broker, described by Bhabha (1994, 87) as a “go-between class”. As various authors (see e.g. Hinderaker 2007; Walker 2010) have shown, brokers – as a “specific type of middleman, mediator, or intermediary” (Lindquist 2015, 870) – were central to European colonial expansion and the establishment and maintenance of colonial rule. In the 21st-century context of migration, transnationalism and diasporisation, predominantly ‘high-skilled’ migrant and/or diasporic agents have been assigned the role of brokers in state bureaucracies, NGOs or businesses, that is, they have become ‘interlocutors’ between

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the dominant community – the ‘majority society’ – and the ‘communities’ they are ascribed to (Çakır and Fritsch 2021; de Jong 2016). Throughout this chapter, I discuss forms of subjectivation of Franco-Comorian politicians as ‘community brokers’ navigating between the ‘national community’ and the ‘Comorian community’. I thus continue my discussion on subjectivations as ‘Franco-Comorian’, as already examined with regard to younger generations in the context of ‘multicultural markets’. In the realm of politics, the relation between generation and Franco-Comorianness also becomes evident, given that all politicians interviewed (two men and two women) identified as part of the ‘younger generation’, hence to Franco-Comorian generations who grew up in France. My interest is in discussing community brokers as ethnicised (self-)governing in the context of local politics and the dispositif of communitarisation. In order to do so, I – following a Foucauldian understanding of dispositifs as strategic formations (Foucault 1978, 120) – turn to the ‘urgencies’ that the politics of communitarisation responds to in the context of local politics in Marseille. I show that ethnicised self-governing responds to the urgency of a representation through communitarisation, shaped by discourses and practices of ‘integration’ through communitarisation and postcolonial collaborations. Second, I analyse community brokers as a form of postcolonial mimicry, shaped by postcolonial collaborations, on the one hand, and the contestation of practices of French Republicanism and discourses and practices of Frenchness, on the other. The politics of communitarisation hence ref lects ethnicised biopolitics, as diasporic communities are governed and govern themselves through ethnicisation. However, communitarisation also entails practices of self-representation and negotiation as an ethnicised community in the context of the French Republic. Representation through communitarisation The representation as a community can be identified as the main objective of both political mobilisations. In one of the speeches during the main mobilisation event of the CICP, which took place on 14 January 2014 in the Dock des Suds, a renowned show venue, a member of the collective stated: “We know very well that there are political parties that don’t represent 10 percent of [the population of ] Marseille” (Ethnographic protocol, CICP). The speaker refers to the common estimation of Comorian populations representing 10% of Marseille’s population. He thus frames political representation in biopolitical terms, as he links political representation to the representation of ethnicised groups. In a similar manner, Ali addresses his role in representing Comorian communities in the course of the departmental elections of 2015. In an official statement published on his Facebook wall on 25 February 2015 as a reaction to his nomination as the substitute for the long-standing (leftist) politician Jean-Noël Guérini,4 he states: “I did it for you in full conscience, for the pride of our community that doesn’t accept being manipulated at each

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electoral turn by unscrupulous individuals” (Ali Mohamed La Force du 13 2015). Ali’s alignment with Guérini – former president of the Departmental Council of the département Bouches-du-Rhône and a current member of the Senate of France – reveals the strategic nature of ethnicised self-governing as a means of forming political alliances with the political establishment. In this regard, Ali presents his candidature as a ‘solution’, and in doing so, as a form of self-governing from the side of Comorian communities in the face of the political instrumentalisation of Comorian communities in local ­politics. Representation through communitarisation is framed as a response to a ­specific urgency, namely the instrumentalisation of ethnicised communities for electoral purposes (see Peraldi and Samson 2006 for an analysis of communautarisme in Marseille). In this section, I discuss the contexts of a politics of communitarisation and show the relation between ethnicised (self-) governing and discourses and practices of ‘integration’ through communitarisation on the one hand and postcolonial collaborations between state actors and institutions, Franco-Comorian politicians and community-related elites, on the other. ‘Integration’ through communitarisation5 A member of the CICP and left-wing politician situates the choice to form a Comorian collective in the context of current practices of French Republicanism: I think that communitarist politics are made by those who defend the Republican system, as I know it. This means, in Marseille, there are communities, and everybody defends his territory. […] This means, if today community pressures respond to an insertion of communities in Marseille, the Comorian community must play the same game and not go back to the Republican ideal which does not exist, which exists nowhere. (Interview, 12 November 2013) The local politician raises two important points. On the one hand, his reflection indicates the relationship between the “Republican system” and “communitarist politics”. He addresses what Vincent Geisser (1997, 21) has termed the “institutional production of ethnicity” (translation K.F.) in postcolonial France since the 1980s, in which ethnicised communities have been marked as the object of ‘protection’ of established parties. On the other hand, he emphasises the role of “community pressures” to the “insertion of communities” in Marseille. The politician articulates the relation between c­ ommunitarisation and discourses and practices of ‘integration’, as it is through communitarisation that ‘integration’ is supposed to take place. ‘Integration’ through ­communitarisation reflects forms of ethnicised governing, as becoming part of the ‘national community’ takes place by means of ethnicisation, of being marked as ethnicised community (Çakır and Fritsch 2021, 112). The wording ‘must play the same

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game’ then points to self-governing through ethnicisation in terms of the strategic imitation of ‘communitarist’ politics on the part of the collective in order to lobby for more representation of the Comorian community in local politics. At first sight, the name of the CICP does not necessarily point out an ethnicised agenda. Rather, the name evokes the idea of a collective regrouping of people who position themselves as ‘indignant’ about the current political, economic and/or social situation. As explained by a member of the collective and representative of the Maorais association AMBR (L’Amicale des Mahorais des Bouches-du-Rhône/Association of Maorais of Bouches du Rhône), “there were Madagascan people, there were Senegalese people, there were Cape Verdeans, so one says ‘Comorian’ because it is what we promoted” ­(Interview, 2 April 2015). While meant to be an alliance between different political actors ­ ember ascribed to and/or ascribing themselves to the ‘African diaspora’, the m underlines ethnicised identity as a strategic category. As the presence of an Maorais association indicates, the collective also included Maorais political actors, thus building alliances between Comorian and Maorais communities. Despite this heterogeneous composition, the collective promoted one ­ethnicised, that is, a Comorian identity, and thus contested the neo-colonial division between ‘Comorian’ and ‘Maorais’ – given the status of Mayotte as a département d’outre-mer (Overseas department), as outlined later on. It is with Gaston Defferre, the Socialist mayor of Marseille from 1944 to 1945 and from 1953 to 1986, that a ‘symbolique communautaire’ (‘communitarian symbolism’; Geisser and Kelfaoui 2001) emerges as a central mode of governing in Marseille.6 Since then, the voting lists have started to show a certain number of candidates ascribed to the ‘Jewish’, the ‘Armenian’ and the ‘Corsican community’. However, while the city has been presented as composed of communities, not all communities have been presented equally; the communitarian symbolism rather ref lects a relation between a ­dominant unmarked normality – white, bourgeois and Catholic (Peraldi and ­Samson 2006, 268) – and its ethnicised Others. What becomes apparent is how ­clientelistic politics works through the mobilisation of (post-)migrant population groups along ethnicised ascriptions; a phenomenon Peraldi and Samson (2006, 263) describe in Gouverner Marseille: enquête sur les mondes politiques marseillais as “communautés électorales”, “electoral communities” that constitute themselves as ethnicised groups in the course of political mobilisations (see Sökefeld 2006). Marseille’s communitarian symbolism ref lects a larger context of postcolonial France, shaped by relations between ‘migrant communities’ and the political establishment, especially the Socialist Party. Discourses of political and cultural representations of ‘ethnicity’ emerged in public debates at the end of the 1960s, when discourses of ‘difference’ were debated among leftist parties, trade unions and associations (Geisser 1997, 20f.). In the 1980s, the question of ‘race’ and ‘ethnicity’ was politicised by French citizens whose parents had migrated from former colonies, especially North Africa. In 1983, predominantly Franco-Maghrebian activists organised the Marche pour l’égalité et contre le racism (‘March for equality and against racism’), where thousands of (young)

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people were mobilised to demonstrate against racism and for equality and marched from Marseille to Lyon and Strasbourg to finally arrive in Paris.7 In response to antiracist social movements, the Socialist Party, which was part of the government in the 1980s, supported the institutionalisation of antiracist discourses and practices in the form of two main media associations, namely SOS Racisme and France Plus, of which the former is still active. While the promotion of antiracist associations was crucial considering the extreme right was gaining strength, mediatised antiracism also resulted in more of a “paternalist treatment of the question of immigration than a real promotion of diversity in politics” (Geisser and Soum 2008, 28f.; translation K.F.). Moreover, through integrating representatives of these associations into its functional elite, the antiracist movements were more and more co-opted by the political establishment, more specifically the Socialist Party (­ Bouamama 2006, 205ff.). In the 1980s, the Socialist Party hence took on a prominent role in politicising the question of ethnicised ‘minorities’ in France. However, given the framing of antiracism in terms of ‘integration’, the Socialist Party adopted a paternalist role: On the one hand, it promoted itself as ‘protecting’ ethnicised communities from racism. On the other, it promoted ‘national unity’ in the face of the threat of ‘communitarian fragmentation’, conceived as ‘dangerous’ to the nation (ibid.). In Ethnicité Républicaine, Geisser (1997, 32) describes this form of governing as part of French Republicanism showing a “capacity to integrate a certain dose of differentialism (sexual, cultural, religious, regional…) in a selective and symbolic manner” (translation K.F.). A relation between French Republicanism and ethnicised biopolitics in terms of a ‘biopolitical immunisation’ (Lorey 2011) can be observed: It is through integrating ethnicised Others that the Republic constantly reproduces itself as the dominant unmarked ‘national’ body. The historical relationship between the Socialist Party and ethnicised communities is addressed in an interview with a Franco-Comorian activist, as she elaborates on the relation between the ‘Comorian community’ and Gaston Defferre: The Comorian in general, when I speak of the case of my father, my uncles, my mother all that, they are people […] who have never become a member of a party, they have not adhered to a political party in ­Marseille, whilst they were very active on the Comoros […] And here we have not at all taken this option, of course there are other concerns, but later on our parents supported Gaston Defferre, Gaston Defferre was someone who supported the Comorian community a lot, who had ­special friendships with certain people etc. He was very much respected, so there was this friendship and logically people started to support the Socialist Party. So, there was this general thinking that the Comorian voted essentially socialist, and this despite the fact that the Socialist Party has never done anything for the Comorians. Later on, the youth, our children, our small children, my little sister, my little brother, they started to become

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members of the right, yes, as a reaction I think and due to the idea, why not, why not, everybody lives as he likes. (Interview, 12 November 2013) The activist describes the instrumentalisation of ethnicised communities as objects of governing in terms of a voting resort. While the notion of friendship implies clientelist politics, Defferre is also pictured as a ‘father figure’ for Comorian communities, which ref lects the paternalist relation between the Socialist Party and ‘migrant communities’. Against this backdrop, the activist states a tendency among younger generations to vote for the right, which ref lects the linking of ‘diversity politics’ and neoliberal (conservative) politics (Sauer 2007, 38ff.). Until the 2000s, Franco-Maghrebian nor Franco-Comorian candidates hardly appeared on electoral lists. As emphasised by one of the speakers during the main mobilisation event of the CICP, the election of the first Franco-Comorian deputy mayor in 1995 at the town hall of the thirteenth/ fourteenth arrondissement was due to a similar collective as created in 2014: “We got this first post of a deputy mayor thanks to the collective that had as objective the first representativeness (…) and the visibility of the components of the city of Marseille” (Ethnographic protocol, CICP, 12 January 2014). Politics are framed as biopolitics in terms of the representation of different population groups. The (non-)representation of what was referred to as the ‘Muslim community’ within public and political discourse became a major subject during the municipal elections in Marseille in 2001. The term ‘Muslim community’ functioned as an umbrella term during the elections, assembling “candidates with a Maghrebian, Mashreki, African and Comorian migration background (Geisser and Kelfaoui 2001, cited in Peraldi and Samson 2006, 270; translation K.F.)”. The mobilisation along religion needs to be read against the background of racist, criminalising (security) discourses in France since the 1980s, in which the ‘Muslim community’ has become constructed as a central target group. Since the late 1980s, debates on communautarisme have hence centred around ‘Islam’ and ‘Muslim communities’ (Guénif-Souilamas 2006b). In this regard, the intersection of gendered and ethnicised Othering can be observed, with the Islamic headscarf as a central object of political debates (see e.g. Nordmann 2004). As Blanchard, Bancel and Lemaire (2005, 25) argue, the headscarf has become the emblem in a ‘false debate’ that positions “secular ‘Republicans’” and “‘communitarist’ Muslims” on opposite sides. This ‘false’ dichotomy further masks a more general conf lict inscribed into French Republicanism, namely the one between two Frances, one ‘secular’ and one ‘Christian’. These two Frances present the effect of the introduction of the principles of laïcité, that is, the separation of State and Church, at the beginning of the 20th century: One forgets how religion and politics constantly overlap and how the strong expression of republicanism borrows its tone and mode from the

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French religious fund. The war between the two Frances has never quite stopped, and the introduction of a new religion into the public sphere, immediately seen as highly political, has reactivated this secular war. (Guénif-Souilamas 2006c, 38) A postcolonial context can be observed, as it is through marking ‘Muslim communities’ as the Other that the political gap between the two Frances is supposed to be bridged, at least on a symbolic level. The marking of the ­‘Muslim’ as the Other of the Republic has been intensified since the social uprisings in the banlieues in larger French cities in 2005/2006, presented as “French Muslims being unable to integrate into French culture” (Bloom, Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009, 10). Anti-Muslim racism has further increased since the attacks – framed as ‘Islamist’ – on the leftist satire journal Charlie Hebdo on 7 January 2015 and on the club Bataclan in Paris on 13 November 2015, and most recently, as a result of the brutal decapitation of a teacher by an IS sympathiser. The recent anti-separatism bill, passed by the National Assembly in February 2021, ref lects the effects of anti-Muslim racism on state policies and legislation, as it explicitly targets “Islamist extremism” (“islamisme radical”; “Loi du 24 août 2021” n.d.). Consequently, ethnicised communities, especially Muslim communities, are put under ‘general suspicion’ because they are framed as ‘endangering’ the Republic (Bouamama 2006, 210f.). In an interview with a founding member of the CICP and right-wing candidate in the municipal elections of 2014, she addresses the relation between ethnicisation and criminalisation in the context of Comorian communities: We are often stigmatised, we are often the object of discrimination, we are constantly pointed at in the media and by politicians, I don’t know whether you heard about the statements of Claude Guéant who said that the violence in Marseille is the result of [laughs cynically] of Comorians. Voilà. Recently on [the channel France] 5 there was a debate about ‘Marseille capital of violence’ and one of the speakers pointed at the Comorians and said that it was ‘them’ the clientelism and ‘them’ the corruption. (Interview, 5 December 2013) The local politician refers to the racist attacks on Comorians uttered by the former Minister for Interior Affairs, Claude Gueánt, in the course of the TV program Le Grand Jury RTL – LCI - Le Figaro in 2011 (“Guéant stigmatise (aussi) les Comoriens” 2011). Her reference to a more recent accusation during the TV emission C dans l’air – an emission that hosts public and current debates – from March 2013 – hosting Samia Ghali (the by then leftist district mayor of the fifteenth and sixteenth arrondissement), Yves Thréat (the assistant manager of the editorial office at the right-wing newspaper Le Figaro), Frédéric Ploquin (journalist at the leftist magazine Marianne) and the writer José d’Arrigo – shows a continuity of racist targeting of Comorian communities, both from the political left and right. As Jean-Michel Belorgey et al.

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(2005, 78) argue, although French politics has become more and more clientelistic in terms of satisfying demands from one specific group in order to gain votes, the discursive pairing of clientelism with communautarisme has resulted in a connotation of the two with the politics of ‘migrant communities’. It is in the face of this racist targeting that the Franco-Comorian politician expresses her wish to federate Franco-Comorian political actors: Me personally, this shocked me so much that I told myself, we must wake up, we must unite, federate and show another image of the Comorian community, to say ‘no there are Comorians who have made it, there are Comorians who work hard, and Marseille is our city, it is our city’. I feel Marseillaise before all, I was born here and we want to contribute so that something happens, we want to be acknowledged. […] This is why I work with the collective. (Interview, 5 December 2013) The political mobilisation of the CICP is presented as promoting positive images of the Comorian community in response to negative targeting within public discourses. The creation of spaces for self-representations as an ­ethnicised community in public discourse is framed as a reaction to racist discourse; a discursive strategy that I also discuss in Chapter 6 with regard to practices of ethno-preneurialism among younger Franco-Comorian generations. In a similar way, the problem of ‘criminality’ is not only presented as an external ascription but also as a problem discussed in Comorian communities. During the main mobilisation event, another member of the collective linked the ‘problem of criminality’ among Franco-Comorian youth to the decline of community-related structures such as Qu’ran schools, known as shionis (Ethnographic protocol, CICP, 12 January 2014). Communitarisation through culture and religion is presented as a ‘solution’ to the ‘problem of criminality’, also discussed in more detail in Chapters 5 and 6. Given the central role of religion in the context of Comorian communities, the emphasis on ethnicised ‘origin’ and not religion during both mobilisations ref lects what Guénif (2006c, 38) has described as a positionality of “secular Muslims”, emerging in French politics since the mid-2000s: Identifying as a Muslim isn’t quite viable these days in France unless instantaneously euphemized by an oath of loyalty, i.e. laïcité. However, the “secular Muslims” yielding to this paradoxical proposition accept thereby to be seen as “different” in the French political space, where any other form of visibility is denied to them. (ibid.) The positionality as ‘secular Muslim’ accepts a marking as ethnicised Other, while not touching the “sacralized secularism” (ibid.) of French Republicanism. In academic and public discourse, different terms ref lect such ethnicisation

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processes. Geisser (1997) refers to Franco-Maghrebian politicians as “élus issus de l’immigration” (“politicians with an immigration background”), while Peraldi and Samson (2006, 271) use the term “élu communautaire” (“communitarian politician”). During my research, I was presented with “politicians coming from the communauté xy” or “politicians with a diverse background” (Interview, city councillor, 5 December 2013). The last expression shows a shift in discourse, namely away from an ascription to a specific community and towards discourses of ‘diversity’ (Geisser and Soum 2008). As de Jong (2016, 48) critically remarks, diversity discourses no longer thematise questions of discrimination and marginalisation – as was partly the case with discourses of multiculturalism – but rather “tend to reinforce hegemonic discourses in which a naturalised ‘difference’ is annexed as (only) value”. This naturalisation ref lects ethnicised biopolitics, as Black and p­ oliticians of colour are marked as ethnicised Others, while ethnicisation is also framed as a resource: to themselves, the political parties and the communities they are meant to represent. The relation between ethnicisation and Republicanism can then be understood as a form of postcolonial mimicry, as ethnicisation is to be understood as a “partial representation” (Bhabha 1994, 88), as a part that needs to be subordinated to Republican identity in order not to be ­d ismissed as communautarisme. Against this backdrop, Franco-­Comorian politicians govern themselves by affirming a role as community brokers between the Republic and ‘their’ communities, which ref lects a context of postcolonial collaboration. Postcolonial collaborations In this section, I argue that the positionality of Franco-Comorian politicians as community brokers is part of a context of postcolonial collaborations between French and Comorian state actors and institutions, Franco-Comorian associations, and community-related elites, that is, religious and customary authorities, known as notabilité, ‘notability’. I specifically refer to this form of (self-) governing as a form of collaboration to emphasise the continuity of colonial forms of governing through collaborating with community-related elites on the part of Western state actors (Hinderaker 2007; Walker 2010, 169ff.). In the context of Marseille, such collaborations ref lect ethnicised (self-) governing in form of a communitarian symbolism which goes hand in hand with religious symbolism. In this regard, Marseille Esperance (‘Hope Marseille’) represents the institutionalisation of ‘diversity management’ based on religion in local politics since the 1990s (Gulian 2009, 227). As an informal group attached to the mayor’s office, the group functions as a representative of religious communities in Marseille, more concretely of the Armenian, Buddhist, Catholic, Jewish, Muslim, Orthodox and Protestant communities (“Marseille Esperance” n.d.). As outlined by one of its representatives, Marseille Esperance aims at “transgressing nationalities, origins” and thus decided to focus on religion as a unifying category (Interview, 12 February 2015).

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Ethnicised and racialised identity constructions are framed as a ‘problem’ to politics, while religious identity is presented as a ‘solution’. In other words, accepting the social, political and economic existence of ethnicised communities in France would unmask the very ethnicisation and racialisation of the ‘neutral French community’. In contrast and given the framing of religion as ‘apolitical’, it can be mobilised as a principle of vivre ensemble, of the ‘living together’ of different communities without endangering the Republic. In the context of the Comorian diaspora, the modes of functioning of the Honorary Consulate of the Comoros show how such collaborations between political establishment and religious authorities are situated within a postcolonial context. In contrast to the Embassy and Consulate of the Comoros based in Paris, the Honorary Consulate is a representation of the Union in the cultural and economic domain. It has always been white Frenchmen who have taken over the role of the Honorary Consul, which indicates colonial continuities. In an interview, the current Honorary Consul – Jean-Victor Cordonnier who was appointed by former president Sambi – justifies his nomination as a ‘solution’ to the apparent rivalries between the different islands: “If you choose a person from Anjouan, Ngazidja and Mohéli will say ‘why not us?’ That’s why we took a Frenchman, so nobody is jealous” (Interview, 16 January 2014). The explanation of the Honorary Consul reproduces a colonial image of ethnicised communities as not being ‘able’ to govern themselves (on colonial infantilisation, see McClintock 1995, 21ff.). The ­approval from the side of the former president Sambi further shows the strategic use of a non-Comorian to go around debates on equal representation of all three islands in political functions. As further outlined by the Honorary Consul, he collaborates with representatives of the Comorian community: In the face of the diversity of this population I created a consular council […] I told them voilà I want a representation of the ensemble of the islands and of the ensemble of the great notables who do Comorian ­politics in Marseille’, so they met, they made a proposition, I accepted, they decided on their president, the president is Ismael Aboudou. He works in co-presidency with the Grand Mufti. […] The reality of the Muslim practice of the Comorian collectivity in Marseille cannot be ignored. One has to take account of it. And when I have a message to transfer to the community, it is easier to communicate it through the Grand Mufti (…) than to communicate it through someone else. […] So, the consulate functions like that, this means when I have a non-administrative decision to make, I take the advice of my consular council. (Interview, 16 January 2014) The customary elite – the notables – as well as the religious head – the Grand Mufti – are presented as community brokers. With respect to the colonial ­period on the Comoros, Ibrahime (1997, 87) elaborates on the collaboration on the part of religious leaders, an analysis that resonates in the current

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context and that shows continuities in local politics: “The administrators understood that Islam does not separate religion from politics, and that the head of the community is also the one who directs the prayer and to whom one owes a blind submission” (ibid.; translation K.F.). With regard to colonial Ngazidja, Walker (2010, 175) shows how, besides religious authorities, the customary elite became strategic partners to the colonial power, due to the focus of the colonial administration on elders as brokers. In a similar manner, Blanchy (2004) underlines the interaction between customary power relations on Ngazidja and different political systems throughout history, including the current context of representative democracy. These historical and present collaborations show how customary power does not present the opposite to representative democracy, but its strategic partner in terms of ethnicised (self-)governing. The notabilité as well as the Grand Mufti remain contested representatives of the ‘Comorian community’ in Marseille, as becomes evident in the following extract from an interview with two members of the association Ushababi, which means ‘youth’ and which was created as response to a plane crash in 2009 just in front of Ngazidja: We have a mufti in Marseille who is not accepted by everyone, so there is a section that accepts him and another section that doesn’t accept him. So, for one side the mufti he represents the community and for the other part the mufti he does not represent it. This is already a conf lict between the notables. Even between us youth there is a section that accepts the mufti as a representative of the Comorian community. […] I for example I don’t accept him as a representative of the community, but I accept him as a representative of the religion. One cannot mix up the two, for me one cannot mix the two. … We are in a democracy, we are in Marseille. (Interview, 6 December 2013) The position of the Grand Mufti as a ‘community representative’ is presented as a contested one, both on the part of the notabilité as well as on the part of younger generations. Moreover, the member of Ushababi criticises the representative function of the Grand Mufti as a ‘mixing up’ of religion and politics, which he contests referring to the principles of Western democracy. In contrast, they as association demand a form of federated institution that “must be representative of the community, which means that there must be a feminine presence, we want a youth presence, the intellectuals. We want the notables but not only this” (ibid.). What becomes evident is a p­ ostcolonial context, characterised by a continuity of colonial forms of (self-)governing and contestations on the part of younger Franco-Comorian generations. As explained by the interview partner, this continuity of colonial governing is ref lected in the collaboration between Western democratic actors and ­community-related elites, whose authority does not correspond with ­Western democratic principles.

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The CICP also addressed the need for a federated institution. The Federation des Associations Comoriennes (Federation of Comorian associations; FECOM), federating 150 associations, was created in Marseille at the beginning of the 1990s (Le Houérou 2000). Since the mid-2000s when it seized to exist, no other federated institution has been established. Since then, single associations have taken over the role as representative associations, such as ANIF, an association related to the region of Itsandra on Ngazidja. ­Besides hosting the Honorary Consul,8 it also took over a representative function during the departmental elections of 2015, given its relationship with ­Mohamed Ali, who was nominated as the substitute of Jean-Noël Guérini. As a Franco-Comorian social worker critically notes, because of the lack of a federated institution, “everybody is a representative” (Interview, 13 October 2013). This situation is then likely to be instrumentalised by French state institutions and actors as well as by Franco-Comorian associations in terms of a divide-and-rule logic, where one association becomes representative of the whole community. Consequently, a member of the CICP and centrist district councillor at the time of the interview in 2015 emphasises the role of a federated institution: It is worth to take other communities [as an example], the Armenians, the Jews, because it is a bit the fashion, they elect representatives, the CRIF [Representative Council of Jewish Institutions in France] for example […] they are not politicians, the president of the CRIF, he is not a politician, but he is elected by the Jewish people of France or, this does not prevent the fact that there are differences among Jewish people, but it is a representation that has its legitimacy and that talks in the name of Jewish people, the same for Armenians, they also have their representation, but Comorians don’t have this, they don’t have an organ that exists, the persons who were elected by Comorians, who will talk in the name of Comorians […] and who will talk to politicians on the Comoros for example. (Interview, 17 February 2015) The local politician refers to the model of community councils as a ‘legitimate’ institution for acting as a community within French politics. The ‘need’ for federation ref lects the dispositif of communitarisation, as groups marked by histories of migration are meant to become an ethnicised or ‘­secular ­religious’ community with respective representatives in order to facilitate negotiations between communities and state institutions. As explained by another member of the collective, such a form of federation would allow them to pursue the interests of the community, such as a House of the Comoros, a mosque or “also to support economic initiatives of certain Comorians here in Marseille” (Interview, Franco-Comorian politician, 5 December 2013). Representation as ethnicised community hence entails political, economic and socio-cultural representation, which shows the relationship between ethnicised (self-)governing and “modes of mobility and access to public space” (Geisser 1997, 28). Coming back to the argumentation of the local politician, it becomes apparent that representation as a community also entails representation towards

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Comorian institutions. The federated institution is presented as a community broker shaped by a “double vision” (Bhabha 1994, 88), as it is meant to address the simultaneous need to exist politically as a community in France and to exist politically as a diaspora with respect to the Comoros. At this point, it is important to note that the Union of the Comoros has not ratified the law for a right to vote for members of the diaspora. As explained by another rightwing candidate and member of the CICP, the nonexistence of a right to vote for members of the Comorian diaspora was due to a “lack of political will” from the side of the Comorian government, since this right would mean that “it is Comorians who are abroad who will decide and to a politician there this can pose a threat” (Interview, 5 December 2013). Diaspora as a political entity is presented as a potential ‘threat’ to the Comorian government. This framing of parts of the diaspora as a political threat has become obvious since the protests organised by parts of the diaspora in response to the re-­ election of president Azali Assoumani in 2019, accused of election fraud and whose election terminated the agreement of alternating presidency between the three islands. In August 2021, two members of the association Mabedja,9 founded in the aftermath of the election in Paris, got arrested while organising demonstrations in Moroni (Youssouf 2021). The arrestations show the political will to suppress the creation of transnational and diasporic political networks and political relationships between movements on the Comoros and in the diaspora on the part of the current government. Coming back to the interview with a member of the CICP, political relations between members of the diaspora and Comorian politicians exist in form of locality-related associations: “Oh, each politician is supported by his region of origin. And as you just said, the associations here are essentially related to a region, a village, so you have understood the relation between the two [laughs]” (ibid.). Whereas progressive political movements and their diasporic networks are suppressed on the part of Comorian political elites, locality-related associations foster the relation between political and customary elites on the Comoros and in the diaspora. It is against the backdrop of such postcolonial collaborations that Franco-Comorian politicians perform the role of ‘community brokers’.

Performing ‘community brokers’ In this section, I focus on forms of subjectivation as ‘community brokers’ among Franco-Comorian politicians who were involved in the two mobilisations. I am interested in how they understand themselves and how they perform their roles as community brokers in the context of local politics. I discuss their role as community brokers as part of postcolonial mimicry. On the one hand, they are meant to represent the Republic and the ‘national community’, free(d) of and from racialised and ethnicised markers. On the other, they are meant to represent the ‘community’ they are ascribed to or ascribe themselves to. The communitarised positionality presents processes of exclusion through Othering, while it also shows processes of inclusion

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through communitarisation on the part of ethnicised communities. Community brokers then ref lect what Bhabha refers to as the ambivalence inscribed into mimicry: On the one hand, community brokers represent the “authorized versions of otherness” (Bhabha 1994, 88), as they facilitate the governing of ethnicised communities. On the other hand, “mimicry must continually produce its slippage, its excess, its difference” (ibid., 86). I thus continue my discussion on the performativity of Franco-­Comorianness as a form of hyphenated identity (Hall 1996), started in ­Chapter 6, by putting a focus on its articulation as a political subjectivation. I will show how it is through the performance of both – belonging to the national community and the Comorian community – that Franco-Comorian politicians negotiate difference in the context of local politics. The positionality as Franco-Comorian then points out the effects of Othering in terms of a “double vision” (Bhabha 1996, 88), as the politicians articulate and negotiate their belonging to the French and the Comorian community. Such a double vision becomes evident, as a left-wing district deputy mayor in his mid-30s responsible for youth, sport and associations elaborates on his advocacy function: The community membership is the perspective that you have towards yourself and towards those who resemble you, those who come from the same origin as you and who know the same suffering in Marseille. In this moment you cannot escape this reality. I am a politician of Marseille, but I am also a member of a community that is the Comorian community, and that has specific problems. I experienced these problems, others experience them and with respect to what I see, I cannot ignore this suffering. So, there is a side in my political engagement that is for all people of Marseille, I talk about the ensemble of Marseille, we also have a vision of the city and after that there is a perspective that is more specific which is the one of this community which is in difficulties. (Interview, 12 November 2013) The politician expresses different forms of communitarised belonging – the ‘community of Marseille’ and the ‘Comorian community’ – while not ­playing them off against each other. He describes his broker role as a double vision, shaped by a privileged insight into (at least) two social realities, namely the dominant and the communitarised reality. When I asked him to clarify the problems Comorian communities faced, he mentioned high unemployment rates, education problems among children, single-parent families as well as a rise in criminality among younger generations. He then referred to the above-mentioned problems as societal problems, while emphasising that the ‘Comorian community’ experienced these problems more than other groups due to its marginalised positionality, which he related to racism: I think that the Comorian is first of all seen as Black, […] not primarily as Muslim. He is first seen as Black. And after that people will ask

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themselves the question whether Comorians are Muslim or not. So, I think it is a secondary question of the Comorian community […] the question of religion. With a Black person, it is his skin colour that will primarily pose a problem. The perception of him, the direct perception will be done with respect to his skin colour, not with respect to his religious membership. The discrimination is direct. I am a Black person, so tac, tac, tac, tac, tac. (Ibid.) The description of racist experiences evokes Frantz Fanon’s analysis in Black Skin, White Masks (2002 [1967]) of the mechanisms of the racist gaze as a ‘dissection’, as a form of splitting and fixing, as he writes with respect to his experiences as a Black man in various everyday settings in France in the 1960s: “already I am being dissected under white eyes, the only real eyes. I am fixed” (ibid., 116). The local politician addresses the continuous racist fixing: Whereas he emphasises identity constructions in Comorian communities as shaped by the intersection of racialisation and religion, it is the racist gaze that fixes members of Comorian communities within one category, namely Blackness. In a similar manner, a right-wing city councillor in her late 20s emphasises her role as a representative of “the Black community in Marseille, in particular the Comorian community, because I am of Comorian origin, but I am a politician of all the… of the whole community” (Interview, 7 December 2013). The emphasis on representing the “Black community” indicates the unmarked racialisation at work with respect to the ‘whole community’, which is white. In her analysis of the nomination of ‘mixed race’ Rachel Christie as Miss England in 2009, Shirley A. Tate (2015, 111) emphasises that “her body refuses whiteness and insists on different categories of recognition as English”. With Tate, one might say that Franco-Comorian politicians articulate different categories of recognition as French, namely as Black French citizens (see Keaton, Sharpley-Whiting, and Stovall 2012). In terms of self-representation, the emphasis on Blackness instead of ­religion on the part of both politicians must be situated in the earlier-­ mentioned larger context, in which Islam has been marked as the Other to the Republic. However, the emphasis on racialised identity also ref lects the increased politicisation of ethnicity and race on the part of Black French citizens and French citizens of colour, especially since 2005, related to the racist framing and policing of the social uprisings in the banlieues (Bloom, Gondola, and Tshimanga 2009, 10). As a response, various movements and collectives were created, including the CRAN (Conseil Représentatif des Associations Noires/Representational Council of Black Associations) and the BAN ­( Brigade Anti-Négrophobie), which have been thematising and fighting institutional racism in France since then (“Quelles sont les avancées du CRAN?” n.d.; see also Thompson 2020 on self-identified Black movements in France). These movements and associations, and many more, address the racist structuration of French society – as the result of colonialism

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and enslavement – and the need for expressing ethnicised and racialised identity in French public discourse and politics; a direction which the CICP also pursued. The communitarised positionality then ref lects such an interplay of Othering and self-representation in shaping ethnicised (self )-governing, as described by a centrist district councillor in his early forties and responsible for economic development: It doesn’t bother me at all to be labelled, under quotation marks, as French of Comorian origin or politician of the Comorian community, because in any other domain I consider myself as, really French, it is the first word that is most important and after all one should not fall into a reversed communautarisme, which means to be only perceived as a politician of the community. […] This means that I have tools to better read what is going on in the Comorian community, it is not because of that that other politicians should see me as the one who is only labelled as Comorian etc. Ah so it is complicated in this way as, as a concept. (Interview, 17 February 2015) The local politician articulates a positionality as Franco-Comorian. While he emphasises his positionality as French as his primary category of ­identification, he also underlines his experience of being socialised in Comorian communities. He presents his communitarised positionality as a form of self-representation and as a form of resource in terms of contextualised knowledge. He then contrasts a communitarised self-representation from Othering discourses, which tend to entrench him in ethnicised categories. The communitarised positionality appears as constituted through Self-Other relations, as the Self is constituted through the gaze of the Other, which always tends to dismiss particular knowledge as contrary to the Republican values and consequently, as communautarisme. Ethnicity is presented as a resource as well as a constraint in politics, as described by Rosenfeld (2013, 34) with regard to Franco-Comorian and Maorais political actors on Île-de-France. On the part of the dominant society, communitarisation means Othering. From the side of Comorian communities, however, the interpellation as communitarised politician points out forms of belonging to a community, that is, forms of inclusion. A communitarised positionality then comes along with specific expectations, as mentioned by the earlier-cited right-wing city councillor as she elaborates on the challenges she faces in her political function. Officially “responsible for the relations between the communities”, the description of her political function ref lects her role as a broker between different communities. However, she criticises that she never really had concrete policies ascribed to her political function: So yes, for sure we are very requested as the Comorian community is important. […] There are cases when it does not at all enter into my political function, but I am obliged to take it into account […] So I have to be at

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their side, be it during the week, in the evening, on weekends, I have to be constantly at their side. So that, plus meetings, classic ones of my function, plus my work, plus my daughter, […] for sure this is a lot. That’s for sure. And the community thinks that I surely must have a budget that allows me to participate in all the events, all the activities they do on the ground, instead it is not at all like that, it is strictly out of my own pocket […] I don’t have a budget for this. (Interview, 7 December 2013) The communitarisation of Franco-Comorian politicians is linked to solicitations on the part of the ‘community’. It becomes apparent that on the part of Comorian communities, her participation in community-related activities is perceived as part of her role as a politician, while she explains that her office did not account for these occasions in the budget, making her participation in ­community-related activities an unofficial part of her job. However, formalising these activities would lead to the accusation of reproducing communautarisme, which indicates the problematic tension between the social existence of ethnicised communities in France and the negation of a political representation by Republican political principles. Against this backdrop, the earlier-cited district councillor frames his role as community broker in symbolic terms, which points to the ambivalent relationship between ethnicisation and Republicanism: So voilà, in contrast one should not fall into the communitarist path and say that the communities will elect their own representatives and the Comorians will talk for the Comorians, the Comorians will not talk for others, for other Marseillais [people of Marseille; K.F.] […] but as a symbol, I understand very well the fact that to have a deputy mayor of Comorian origin, this has never been seen, this has a meaning for the politicians who are with me, this has a meaning for the population here that will say to itself “voilà, we have a Comorian at the district hall, so it will be easier for me if I don’t speak French to go there”, this perhaps also helps the integration, even for the youth, that will tell itself “voilà, even if he is from the quartiers nord [Northern Districts; K.F.], he can become a politician” […] so this offers other possibilities than to become just a dealer […] to aspire to other things, there is a need for different things to happen. (Interview, 17 February 2015) The politician’s account shows a relation between ethnicisation and upward social mobility (Çakır and Fritsch 2021), as he presents himself as a role model to younger Franco-Comorian generations. His description further shows how performing the role of community brokers reflects forms of self-governing as it facilitates access to administrative institutions for Comorian populations. While the communitarised positionality is hence part of (self-)governing in the context of Marseille’s communitarian symbolism, the affirmation of an ethnicised positionality is fast being dismissed as communautarisme. It is this ambivalence that

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Franco-Comorian politicians negotiate their role as community brokers, as they are highly aware of the problematic of ethnicised politics, while they emphasise the importance of ethnicised realities in the context of France. Mimicry as a postcolonial collaboration As just outlined, the positionality of Franco-Comorian politicians as community brokers is characterised by a double role of representing the ‘Comorian community’ on the one hand and Marseille and/or the Republic as a community on the other. Following a performative approach towards politics, I consider political spaces and political communities to be dependent on their constant reiteration through discourse and practice (Rose-Redwood and Glass 2014, 2). Consequently, I now put a focus on how the ‘Comorian community’ was staged in speeches and cultural practices during the main mobilisation events. The respective performances ref lect the earlier-­ discussed role of ethnicised communities as electoral communities. However, they also show the performativity of biopolitics, as (local) politics manifest themselves as depending on the performance of ethnicised identities. Against this backdrop, the political events in focus ref lect postcolonial collaborations, namely between Marseille’s political establishment, Franco-Comorian ­politicians and customary and religious elites, but also between community brokers of different ethnicised communities. As different authors (e.g. Castro Varela and Dhawan 2005, 280f.) have criticised, Bhabha’s concept of mimicry is an ungendered one, which results in a reproduction of the mimicking subject as a male subject. As I will show, mimicry as a postcolonial collaboration is embedded within intersectional biopolitics (see Haritaworn 2012), as community is performed along the social categories of gender, age classes, religion and generation. Age classes are part of customary power relations, which structure societal relations along gendered age classes, characterised by the “government of ‘Accomplished Men’ (wandru wadzima) […], matrimonial alliances between matrilineal houses, and life cycle exchanges, using the set of social rules called ãda na mila” (Blanchy 2013, 571, see also Chapter 5). The performativity of identity differs according to the context in which the performance takes place (Butler 2004, 217). The mobilising event organised by the CICP in the course of the municipal elections of 2014 took place in the Dock des Suds, a renowned show venue. The mobilising event around the nomination of Ali as substitute for Guérini in the course of the departmental elections of 2015 took place in the Salon Magallon, an event hall where Comorian festivities usually take place. While the two event halls are literally neighbours, in Chapter 4, I show how they are shaped by ethnicised bordering, as becomes apparent in the following extract from my protocol on the mobilisation around Ali: I have been to Salon Magallon various times, as it is a place where FrancoComorian associations usually organise cultural and/or religious

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festivities as well as marriages. When I arrive at the entrance of the place, I encounter a young man who stands at the entrance; he looks like a security guard. When I want to pass, he looks at me, stops me, asking whether I am waiting for someone. I seem not to match his image of people who are coming to this event. It might be my casual clothing which conveys that I am neither a politician nor a journalist. It might be my white positionality that seems not to match the objective of mobilising the Comorian community. When I tell him that I want to go to the political event that is about to take place, he seems satisfied and shows me in. (Ethnographic protocol, mobilisation Ali, 15 March 2015) The description of the encounter between the security guard and I ref lects the communitarised image that shaped the mobilisation around Ali and Guérini. In contrast, the Dock des Suds, which I had visited for other cultural events, is not categorically related to Comorian communities; it rather presents ‘cosmopolitan Marseille’ (see Chapter 4). In the following analysis, I will show that similar, though not the same, staging of the Comorian community took place despite the different places and the discourses these places represent, which indicates the importance of ethnicised biopolitics to local politics in Marseille. During both events, the seating order was similar to those at Comorian festivities, structured along gender, age classes, generation and religion. Consequently, women were sitting on one side and men on the other, with older generations respectively in the first rows. Moreover, and in line with customary norms, the first rows on the ‘male side’ were occupied by members of the customary and religious notabilité. Moreover, in both events, the customary and religious notabilité was also present on stage, described here in one of my ethnographic protocols with regard to the event of the CICP: On stage, there is a long row of chairs. The chairs are partly empty. On the left side of the speaker’s desk, representatives of the notabilité are already sitting. Among these men sits the religious head of the Comorian community, Ali Mohamed Kassim. At the front of the stage, one sees a banner saying “Marseille a besoin de nous” (“Marseille needs us”). (Ethnographic protocol, CICP, 12 January 2014) When the members of the CICP entered the stage, they took their seat in the same row as the notabilité. Yet, as the notabilité did not speak during the event, their role was reduced to a symbolic form of community representation, which reveals the main objective of the event, namely, to perform ethnicised community as a political resource for Franco-Comorian politicians in order to attract the attention of central political players during the municipal elections. In line with this communitarised positionality, no speaker during the event organised by the CICP clarified his or her political affiliation.

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The seating order of the public ref lected Marseille as a postcolonial context, with the community-related elite sitting on the one side and Marseille’s political elite on the other. The invited representatives of political parties were familiar with most members of the collective, either as former councillors or due to their background in political and economic activities. Maliza Saïd-Soilihi, who had been General Secretary at the Ministry of Public Affairs on the island of Ngazidja, was elected city councillor with the (liberal-)right-wing coalition Marseille en Avant, headed by Jean-Claude Gaudin. Saïd Ahamada,10 who had run the Franco-Comorian Chamber of ­Commerce (CCFC) for a long time, was elected district councillor with the leftist ­coalition Un Nouveau Cap pour les Marseillais, headed by Samia Ghali. Only Smaïl Ali, who presented himself as part of the ‘younger generation’ and who was elected city councillor with the leftist coalition L’Union pour Marseille – headed by Lisette Narducci who joined Gaudin in the second tour – was a newcomer to politics. This is all to say that the broker role ascribed to Franco-Comorian politicians is linked to their middle-class positionality – all politicians had secondary education degrees, and, with the exception of one, all held university degrees – as well as to the communitarised networks they bring to local politics.11 While the public event stayed in line with a communitarian symbolism, the role of the notabilité was not merely a symbolic one. In order to affirm their communitarised belonging, in a press conference, a member of the CICP explained that they had signed “a charter of engagement in order to compel us to defend the interests of the community” (Abdoulhamid 2014a, min. 00:03:39–00:03:45). In a mobilisation video for the main event – o ­ rganised by the CICP and produced by ORTC (Office de Radio et Télévision des Comores/National Radio and Television Channel of the Comoros) – it becomes evident that the charter was signed together with the notabilité, which indicates the collaboration of the CICP with the customary and religious elite beyond symbolic terms (Abdoulhamid 2014b). At this point, it is important to note that many of the notables belong to an ethnicised working class and sometimes even do not possess the right to vote. In the context of Comorian communities, however, they occupy a role of authority, as discussed in Chapter 5 in the context of locality-related Franco-Comorian associations. As translocal spaces, these associations and consequently also the notabilité are not only accountable to the respective communities in Marseille, but also to the localities on the Comoros they represent in the diaspora. Consequently, the communitarised positionality of Franco-Comorian politicians is situated in a diasporic context, where they as politicians are not only held accountable with regard to community-related authorities in Marseille but also with regard to community elites in localities on the Comoros (see Blanchy 2004). The staging of the notabilité as ‘community representatives’ could also be observed during the main mobilisation event for Mohamed Ali in the course of the departmental elections of 2015. Similar to the event of the CICP, the ‘Comorian community’ was represented by a member of the notabilité,

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namely the Grand Mufti as the religious head, who was seated on stage. The following extract of my ethnographic protocol shows how postcolonial collaborations are mediated through the subject position of the notabilité: The event starts. A person takes the microphone and asks everybody who is still standing to sit down. Some follow the request, others remain standing. The man on the microphone explains that Jean-Noël Guérini has arrived. One hears drumming from the reception space. When I look back, I see Mohamed Ali, the substitute for Guérini, who mobilised for this event, in the reception hall dancing. Then, Guérini and Lysette Narducci, the heads of the list of La Force du 13, enter the room accompanied by a group of young male drummers. Ali is following them. Most of the people in the room stand up. Especially the women sitting in the first rows start to cheer for the people who are about to enter, swinging posters on which I decipher the words “we will win”. Guérini, Narducci and Ali get on stage and take the three seats that have remained empty. All three are wearing wreaths of f lowers. A person sitting next to me that I befriended whispers that these wreaths of f lowers usually indicate one’s position as notabilité. When everyone is seated, the Grand Mufti opens the event with a prayer. (Ethnographic protocol, mobilisation Ali, 15 March 2015) Ethnicised community is performed as a voting resort through cultural and religious practices. By presenting all three politicians with a wreath of f­ lowers – the symbol of the notabilité – the community’s support is shown, represented by different groups, including women and youth. Guérini himself explicitly addressed the Grand Mufti as a ‘community representative’ who was meant to draw on his ‘authority’ to mobilise Comorian populations against the farright party FN: “One voice tomorrow will eliminate the Front National […] So in the name of your immense authority, Monsieur the Grand Mufti…” (ibid.). Guérini draws on the image of Marseille as a ‘cosmopolitan city’ as a counter-discourse to the far-right, common to both leftist and liberal-right discourse since the mid-1990s (Gastaut 2003). In order to foster such an alliance between different communities, he refers to his own membership to the “Corsican community” (Ethnographic protocol, mobilisation Ali, 15 March 2015). Guérini has been known for clientelistic politics, with regard to the Socialist Party, the established bourgeoisie in Marseille, cultural and sportive milieus, as well as regarding Corsican communities, referred to as guérinisme (Peraldi and Samson 2006, 44f ).12 What becomes apparent is how clientelistic politics depends on the collaboration between representatives of different ethnicised communities. In this regard, Ali frames this collaboration in gendered terms, as he links the Republican value of fraternity to their personal friendship: “It is because of our fraternity that I join the grouping for the departmental elections. […] My commitment is based on the value of peace and fraternity” (Ethnographic

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protocol, mobilisation Ali, 15 March 2015). Guérini then presents their fraternity as part of a family relation, as he refers to Lisette Narducci – second head of the list then and current deputy mayor of the city of Marseille – as “your mother” (ibid.), addressing the ‘Comorian community’. The paternalist gesture evokes earlier-mentioned colonial continuities in governing through infantilising ethnicised communities who are represented as depending on white leading figures. The mobilisation of the CICP also performed alliances between community brokers of different ethnicised communities. In an interview conducted by ORTC, right after the event, Samia Ghali, mayor of the fifteenth/sixteenth arrondissement explained that her presence at the event was related to her political agenda, namely that her list Marseille Liste, “must resemble the people of Marseille” (Abdoulhamid 2014c, min. 00:07:01). As a FrancoMaghrebian politician, Ghali has assumed the role of a community broker for many years. Having been a member of the Socialist Party until 2020, Ghali has been an important spokesperson for the quartiers nord and hence for combatting ethnicised (spatial) inequalities in Marseille (see e.g. Canetto 2020). Second deputy mayor of the city of Marseille since June 2020, she has been heading the small leftist party Marseille Avant Tout. Alliances between Ghali and Franco-Comorian politicians could also be observed during the last municipality elections in 2020,13 which reveals political alliances between ethnicised politicians and fosters community brokers as a form of ethnicised self-governing in local politics. Political representation then becomes biopolitical, as ethnicised p­ oliticians are assigned a role and perform a role of representing ‘their’ communities. In line with such a logic, Franco-Comorian politicians emphasised the place of Comorian communities in the context of Marseille. During their speeches, the members of the CICP underlined the role Comorian communities had been playing in Marseille since “before the first World War”, again ­positioning the “Comorian community” as the first “Black community” in Marseille (Ethnographic protocol, CICP, 12 January 2014). One member of the collective then articulated discourses of diversity by referring to Marseille’s “cultural wealth”: For a long time, we were an unrecognised community that essentially lived in the shadow of the city. We were citizens, workers, silent compatriots. We have contributed to building this city, to the diversification of its cultural wealth, to make it lively and eternally young by creating a bridge between the Indian Ocean and the Mediterranean. (Ethnographic protocol, CICP, 12 January 2014) The speaker refers to the common discourse of Comorian communities as ‘discreet’, indicated by the wording ‘silent compatriots’ (Direche-Slimani and Le Houérou 2002, 14). As Bouamama (2006, 198ff.) outlines, in the 1970s, and hence at the beginning of postcolonial migration to France, the ‘French

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integration model’ ref lected a politics of (social) invisibilisation and political nonexistence of ‘immigrants’. This lack of political and social visibility in French society went along with a notion of politesse, ‘courtesy’, which was demanded from the newly arrived towards their ‘host society’ (ibid., 199). The mobilisation of the CICP marks a shift in such representations, expressed by one of its members. Positioning himself as part of the ‘third generation’, he emphasised the political role of the youth by stating: “Youth of Marseille, it is time to take destiny into your own hands” (Ethnographic protocol, CICP, 12 January 2014). By addressing youth in general, the politician contests postcolonial divisions in terms of ethnicised communities, while also claiming a space for different ethnicised positionalities in local politics. The respective staging of the ‘Comorian community’ during the mobilising events then shows the role of postcolonial collaboration to local politics, as established parties depend on community brokers of ethnicised communities, whereas the latter depend on the support of the communities they represent to position themselves in politics. The performativity inscribed into the events then manifests the dependence of local politics in Marseille on a constant reiteration of these collaborations through discourse and practice in order to promote the image of Marseille as city of communities. While the respective staging of ethnicised community reproduces the communitarisation of politics in terms of collaboration, the explicit reference to ethnicised positionality also tends to pose a threat to the Republican community, as outlined in the next and last section. Mimicry as contestation As Bhabha (1994, 86) writes: “The success of colonial appropriation depends on a proliferation of inappropriate objects that ensure its strategic failure, so that mimicry is at once resemblance and menace”. In this last section, I will show how the mobilisation of the CICP represented a proliferation of ‘inappropriate’ objects in a postcolonial context, in terms of ethnicised communities as the Other of the Republic. Performing ethnicised community then also presents mimicry in terms of a politics of opposition, as through imitating communitarised politics the collective confronted local politics with their own communitarised Self, addressed the lack of place of ethnicised communities in (local) politics and negotiated neo-colonial divisions shaping the context of the Comorian diaspora. During a press conference held by the CICP shortly after the event organised on 16 January 2014 at the Café Alcazar, one member framed their role of Franco-Comorian politicians as “interlocutors of the Comorian community with respect to this or that party” (Abdoulhamid 2014a, min. 00:03:04), indicating their role as community brokers. The same member then went on to elaborate on the political urgency for such a collective: “It is a pity indeed that we were obliged to create such a collective […] because we live in a representative democracy, representative is not just a name, there must

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be representatives that ref lect the population” (Abdoulhamid 2014a, min. 00:03:57–00:04:25). The politician refers to democratic representativity in biopolitical terms, namely as ethnicised representation. In doing so, he unmasks the ethnicised and racialised positionality of the majority of politicians who claim to represent the ‘French population’, namely as white. The political position of the collective was then vehemently opposed during the press conference by a person sitting in the audience, who presented himself as a political scientist working at the Faculty of Economics and of Management at the University Aix/Marseille. Listening to the arguments of the collective, he countered: If you ask me my opinion […] you have the idea to present a list in the name of Comorians, you lose the idea of the Republic. Well, I see that you shake your head so I will tell you why, well. So, if you say that the idea of the community, the communities already they are, they are exactly… well, it is even forbidden, I don’t know what you aim at doing there, voilà. (Abdoulhamid 2014a, min. 00:06:13–00:06:40) From the point of view of the political scientist, the affirmation of ‘communities’ in politics goes against French Republicanism, where subjects are not supposed to ‘have’ ethnicised and racialised positionalities, next to other social positionalities such as gender or class (Guénif-Souilamas 2006c, 23). Responding to this critique, a member of the CICP countered by explaining that the “prefect of equal opportunity, the first representative of the State, received the communities […] in the localities of the police headquarters” (Abdoulhamid 2014a, min. 00:07:03–00:07:20). As Belorgey et al. (2005, 72) argue, communautarisme in terms of populism has always been part of political mobilisation. Yet, in postcolonial France, it is used to “disqualify those who try to have access to a position which they are denied” (ibid.; translation K.F.). During the press conference, this claiming of a place for the communities in the Republic was articulated by a member of the CICP: So, we today, we say that within the power of the Republic, we need representatives who know the problems of the Comorian community, we hope that in 10, 15 years we won’t need French people of Comorian origin in order to represent the Comorians, because the French people of Comorian origin will be so integrated that the problems will be the same, just that the problems are not the same. (Abdoulhamid 2014a, 00:07:54–00:08:09) The role of Franco-Comorian politicians as community brokers is presented as a strategy, a temporary solution to the reality of postcolonial France, where ethnicised communities represent lived realities that remain unrepresented in the seemingly ‘neutral’ space of the Republic. The argumentation frames

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the Republic as a contested space in which the realities of ethnicised communities have been rendered invisible. Another member of the collective then added that the lived reality of Comorian communities showed that “social suffering (…), in our view, is reinforced by racial discrimination, a racist discrimination” (Abdoulhamid 2014a, min. 00:09:30–00:09:43), thematising the interplay of class inequality and racism (see Fassin and Fassin 2009 on the racialisation of class). He then positioned the members of the CICP as a “new generation” which speaks “another language that will shake up a certain consciousness Marseillais where the foreigner is still the foreigner even after five or six generations” (Abdoulhamid 2014a, min. 00:10:06–00:10:16). The politician criticises racist realities, in which generations succeeding former migrants are constantly Othered. His statement reveals the Othering effects of the dominant discourse of Marseille as a ‘cosmopolitan city’, which results in a continuous marking of Black and populations of colour as the Other. By imitating the common practice of instrumentalising ethnicised communities for elections, they rendered visible the constant ambivalence towards ethnicity and race inscribed into French Republicanism, as it depends on ethnicised Others in order to re-install an unmarked Republican community. The clear political positioning as communitarised politicians – that even seems to transgress political affiliation – then presents mimicry in terms of mockery, a form of irritation and even provocation, as the politicians present themselves as not only being accountable to French institutions, but also to communityrelated elites. In doing so, they represent themselves as community brokers in the context of local politics. However, their broker role also reveals the limits of the governability of diasporic communities, as communitarisation not only entails forms of belonging to different communities in France, but also comprises transnational and translocal belonging (see e.g. Bauböck and Faist 2010). In this regard, the ethnicisation as diasporic community in the course of the mobilisation of the CICP points out the negotiation of neo-colonial divisions shaping the context of the Comorian diaspora. As a founding member of the CICP and right-wing candidate in the municipal elections elaborates on their objectives, she addresses Mayotte as a ‘problem’: “So Mayotte is another problem. We have decided to include Mayotte in the collective […] So we took steps to contact them via their associations and we are waiting for a response” (Interview, 5 December 2013). The framing of Mayotte as a problem indicates the ambivalent relationship between Franco-Comorian and Maorais political actors. Besides this alliance, it was also the inclusion of actors related to all four islands that presented a novelty, as another member of the collective emphasises: “There were the four islands, it was the first time that this was done. […] Often it is the Grande Comore because the majority of the diaspora is Grand-Comorian” (Interview, 17 February 2015). The member of the collective addresses majority-relations in the context of the Comorian diaspora which are also said to shape politics of representation as a community.

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Political conflicts between all four islands date back much longer than the colonial period (see Walker 2019, 81ff.). French colonialism, however, reshaped the relation between the four islands. A representative of the Maorais association AMBR contests the ‘Comorian’ ascription to Mayotte, as he states that “one must know the history, the history, […] I will explain it to you, Mayotte, we, on Mayotte, we are French before the Comoros, the three islands” (Interview, 2 April 2015). The association’s representative refers to the date of independence of the Union of the Comoros in 1975 and the fact of having been ‘French’ before becoming ‘Comorian’ or as Ibrahime describes it (1997, 45): “At its origin, the archipelago of the Comoros is an ensemble of four islands without a political link. It is through the French colonisation that the archipelago was unified” (translation K.F.). Although it was French colonisation that initially created the Comoros as a colonised political entity, it has also been French colonialism and neo-colonialism that has fostered divisions between the islands. Mayotte was the first island to be subjugated under French colonial rule, namely in the mid-19th century.14 On Mayotte, the aristocracy had not gained as much power as on the other islands, which had led to the neighbouring kingdoms’ perception of Mayotte as more ‘rural’. Yet, the island had strengthened its position among the other islands as the colony’s capital, and the political elite and its administration was thus installed in one of its major cities, Dzaoudzi. In 1958, the administrative capital was moved to Moroni on Ngazidja, the island furthest away from Mayotte. This transfer resulted in a loss of power of Mayotte within the archipelago. Remaining a part of France seemed to be the only solution to avoid another subordination of Mayotte by the elites of the other islands in an independent union (Caminade 2004, 120). This loss of power vis-à-vis the other islands, but especially Ngazidja, which gained power, nourished demands for a departmentalisation by the MPM (Mouvement Populaire Mahorais/Popular Maorais Movement) (Idriss 2013, 122). Due to the geopolitical position of the Comoros on one of the main oil routes, France strategically assigned itself the role of the ‘protector’ of Mayotte against the newly constituted Federal Islamic Republic of the Comoro Islands, unilaterally proclaimed in 1975 (Caminade 2004, 121). The integration of Mayotte into the French Republic has even intensified, as it has become an Overseas department in 2011, again as a result of a referendum held in 2009. As a result, relations between Mayotte and the Union of the Comoros have also become more complicated, given the increased repressive control of migration of Comorians from the other three islands to Mayotte. Until the mid-1990s, Comorians could circulate without a visa between the four islands. This was stopped with the introduction of visa requirements in 1995 for Comorians of the Union of the Comoros travelling to Mayotte, known as the ‘Balladur law’. As a result, thousands of people trying to reach Mayotte on boats have died, whereas those reaching Mayotte continue to be criminalised (“Tensions entre les Comores et la France” 2021). The relation between Nzwani, the second largest island of the Union of the Comoros, and Ngazidja has also been marked by political struggles for

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political autonomy. Similar to Mayotte, Nzwani also strategically formed ­a lliances with colonial powers, in that case with the British, in order to re-position themselves in relation to the other islands (see Prestholdt 2008, 13ff.). In 1997, and thus postcolonial times, Nzwani declared its secession from the central government of the Union of the Comoros in Moroni, with the objective of becoming attached to France. In 2001, a framework convention was signed between the three islands of the Union of the Comoros, representatives of the Organisation of the African Union and the European Union (Blanchy 2002, 682). Despite the principle of alternating presidency between the three islands – no longer in place since 2019 – Ngazidja continues to hold a dominant position politically (Taglioni 2008, para. 23). The history and presence of the archipelago shows a colonial and postcolonial history of divide and rule as well as strategic alliances from the side of Comorian and Maorais actors with the former colonial power. Against this backdrop, the mobilisation of the CICP ref lects a different constellation in the context of diaspora, as it is rather the strategic alliance between different Comorian and Maorais actors in the face of a dominant French society. Accordingly, a founding member of the collective links the political alliance to shared experiences of discrimination in Marseille: “Because after all they are as stigmatised as Maorais as perhaps a Comorian, as perhaps a person from Anjouan” (Interview, 5 December 2013). The member of the collective addresses forms of discrimination towards Maorais despite them being French citizens, which indicates continuities in colonial relations between France and the DROMs, the Overseas departments and regions (Vergès 2017, 16f.). Maorais populations represent French Muslims. As outlined by Idriss (2013, 128), Muslim religion even played a central role during the departmentalisation movement, in terms of a unifying factor. The emphasis on a shared ethnicised positionality than a shared religion again fosters the strategic use of ethnicity as a ‘legitimate’ political resource in terms of ethnicised self-governing. As French Muslims, Maorais actors tend to avoid the question of Islam by aligning with their Comorian ‘neighbours’. From the perspective of the representative of the Maorais association, the category ‘Comorian’ is a merely strategic positioning in the context of ethnicised politics: Voilà. And I told myself if I go there, as we are many, to see political parties, with the number [of people] that we represent here in Marseille, they will listen to us. In contrast if I go alone, as a Maorais, they will say ‘ok, we don’t need you’, because they look for the number of people. Because we did the thing at the Dock [des Suds], you remember? (Interview, 2 April 2015) ­ obilisation Ethnicised community is presented as a voting resort. In doing so, the m indicates the contextualised articulation of ethnicised positionalities, which in another context – for instance in the context of politics on the C ­ omoros – would probably not work. The political alliance between Comorian and Maorais

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communities then points out a politics of opposition inscribed into mimicry: By imitating ethnicised discourses, the mobilisation of the CICP addressed the need to bridge neo-colonial divisions between Maorais and Comorian communities. This ‘urgency’ reflects France as a postcolonial context, where Black and communities of colour are continuously marked as ethnicised Others.

A politics of ethnicised (self-)governing The politics of communitarisation and its articulation through postcolonial mimicry show how ethnicised biopolitics operates through a constant marking of diasporic communities as ethnicised Others, while also h ­ ighlighting that the performance of membership to ethnicised communities is what allows Franco-Comorian politicians to negotiate current practices of French Republicanism. The politics of communitarisation hence points out ethnicised (self-)governing processes in the context of postcolonial France and local politics. On the one hand, Comorian communities are governed through Franco-Comorian politicians as community brokers, who are assigned and identify with representing ethnicised communities. However, Comorian communities also use Franco-Comorian politicians to represent and promote their interests as ‘communities’ within the Republic. This kind of politics of ethnicised (self-)governing unmasks the communitarisation inscribed in French Republicanism, which continuously maintains the ethnicised and ­racialised boundaries of a white community (Belorgey et al. 2005, 72). ­Communitarisation then becomes the mirror of Republicanism and shows how local politics are related to ethnicised biopolitics, as it depends on the constant categorisation of population groups along ethnicised ascriptions. The emphasis on ethnicised ‘origin’ corresponds to the current logics of diversity management in (French) politics (Gulian 2009, vii). Against this backdrop, the subject position of the ‘community broker’ corresponds well with Republican discourses of ‘secular Muslims’ in which religious membership can (only) be articulated in terms of ethnicised difference. However, the broker role also needs to be analysed in a context of diaspora, where Franco-Comorian politicians are not only accountable to the national community, but also to Comorian communities in France and on the Comoros. Communitarisation becomes a form of governing on the part of the dominant French community and Comorian communities. However, ethnicised politicians also become partly ungovernable, as the positionality of FrancoComorian politicians as community brokers ref lects a slippage, namely the differences produced through communitarisation. Here, the postcolonial context of the Comorian diaspora comes into play, as communitarisation tends to negotiate neo-colonial divisions between Comorian and Maorais communities. The performativity inscribed in the broker role – as an effect of Othering but also of community belonging – contests a mere framing of ethnicisation as an individual resource in politics; rather, the relation between the Republic and the individual (ethnicised) subject is expanded to relations

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between the Republic, the individual subject and ethnicised communities: By navigating between their (communitarised) roles, Franco-Comorian politicians (re-)inscribe difference in the space of the French Republic.

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Communitarisation and Postcolonial Mimicry  203 Youssouf, Faiza Soulé. 2021. ‘Les autorités comoriennes durcissent le ton contre les Mabedja’. Mayotte La 1ère, September 5. Retrieved September 2021 from, https:// la1ere.francetvinfo.fr/mayotte/les-autorites-comoriennes-durcissent-le-ton-­ contre-les-mabedja-1095808.html.

Notes 1 Whereas the use of the term ‘indignant’ implies a ‘social movement’ c­ haracter – by evoking associations with the anti-Austerity Indignados Movement (2011–2012) in Spain – the choice of the term on the part of the CICP rather ref lects populist tendencies among both right-wing and (liberal-)left-wing politicians, drawing on social movement terminology in order to emphasise a ‘grassroot’ – and in that case ‘community-based’ character (see e.g. Caiani and Graziano 2021). 2 By the time of the municipal elections of 2014, there were two Franco-Comorian politicians elected on the municipal level: Elisabeth Saïd was a city councillor for the conservative-right party UMP (Union pour un Mouvement Populaire/Union for a Popular Movement), today Les Républicains (The Republicans; LR), and the first Black city councillor in postcolonial and post-WWII Marseille. Nassurdine Haïdari was a district deputy mayor for the Socialist Party. Both politicians were part of the CICP. The CICP did not federate all local politicians of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille and it no longer exists. 3 All interviews were held in French, were translated by me, and are here presented in an English translation. The same applies to the transcripts of speeches (part of the ethnographic protocols) and the audio-visual and social media documents used in this chapter. 4 A substitute replaces a politician in case they are no longer able to exercise their political function due to their political resignation or other reasons, such as an illness or death (“Qui peut être candidat” n.d.). 5 The argument of ‘integration through communitarisation’ has been developed in close relationship with the collaborative writing process on a joint article with Alev Çakır on türkiyeli (‘coming from Turkey’) entrepreneurs in Vienna and Franco-Comorian politicians in Marseille as ethnicised brokers. In this article, we argue that the broker role indicates discourses and practices of ‘integration’ through ethnicisation (Çakır and Fritsch 2021, 112). 6 Defferre was Minister of Overseas between January 1956 and June 1957. In the course of his function, he coined the loi-cadre Defferre (‘Defferre Reform-Act’), which introduced the universal right to vote for all citizens of the Overseas territories, which resulted in a larger degree of autonomy for the latter vis-à-vis metropolitan France (see Bancel 2002). 7 The march was a follow-up to protests against police repression against a youth of colour, organised by the youth and mothers living in the marginalised banlieue of Minguettes in Lyon. The first marches occurred between mid-October and the beginning of December 1983. Members of the march were received in Paris by the president at the time, François Mitterrand. In 1984 and 1985, two further ‘Great Marches’ were organised. In 1983, the collective ‘Convergences 1984’ crossed France on motorbikes. In 1985, SOS Racisme organised a European march from Brussels to Paris (INA 2018). 8 At the time of the interview in December 2013, the Honorary Consulate was located in the localities of Maasai Marseille, an association founded by the by then (2013) city councillor Elisabeth Saïd, who was also a member of the CICP. The change of location was due to renovation in the localities of ANIF. 9 See https://www.mabedja.org/, last accessed 15 November 2021. The two members were the artist Chamoun Soudjay and the entrepreneur Farhane Attoumani.

204  Communitarisation and Postcolonial Mimicry 10 Since 2017, Saïd Ahamada was elected as the first Franco-Comorian parliamentarian by the seventh electoral district of the département Bouches-du-Rhône for La République en Marche (The Republic on the Move; LRM), founded by Emmanuel Macron. 11 Since the municipal elections held in 2020, Nouriati Djambae is the only ­Franco-Comorian local politician in Marseille. She is a city councillor (responsible for legal access and the access to “second-chance” schools) for Printemps Marseille, the leftist-green alliance governing Marseille since the municipality elections 2020. The decrease of Franco-Comorian politicians shows the strong relationship between the politics of communitarisation and ‘community ­pressures’ and local politics in Marseille. 12 In the course of the departmental elections, ANIF was publicly accused of ­corruption from the side of another Franco-Comorian association that used to present itself as ‘community representative’, the CCF (Conseil des Comoriens en France/Council of Comorians of France). Reason for the accusation was that, just before the elections, ANIF had received a grant of 20,000 euros by the ­Departmental Council, still under the direction of Guérini (Bellifa 2015). 13 During the last municipal elections, Ben Amir Saadi, a Franco-Comorian ­journalist, former representative of the Comorian national soccer team and representative of the sports brand Maana, stood as a candidate on her list (see https:// www.youtube.com/watch?v=KHtOEVLqKdw, last accessed 30 November 2021). 14 Mayotte was the first of the four islands to become a formal colony attached to the colony of Madagascar, while the other islands remained protectorates until 1912. In 1899, all islands were formally subordinated to the administration of the Governor of Mayotte (Ibrahime 1997, 28).

8 Conclusion

The central aim of this book was to develop an approach towards postcolonial diaspora that is sensitive to power, placing a focus on cultural and political mobilisations in the context of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille. With this in mind, I was especially interested in the questions of how Foucauldian concepts can be employed for an analysis of diaspora and how, conversely, such an analysis of diaspora realities enriches Foucauldian theory and methodology. In my analysis, I focused on three cultural events – the fundraising twarab events hosted by Franco-Comorian associations as well as two events in ­‘multicultural markets’, namely the talent show Etoiles Rasmi and the musical performance Heza, le chemin du taarab – and two political mobilisations – the Collectif des Indignés de la Cité Phocéenne during the municipal elections of 2014 and the mobilisation of Comorian communities around Mohamed Ali in the departmental elections of 2015. My focus on mobilisations and performances of diaspora in events brought me to discourses and practices of community and a critical engagement with discourses of communautarisme, a term used to subsume any reference to an identity – especially in terms of ethnicity, race, sexuality and gender (Guénif-Souilamas 2006, 24f.) – beyond the ‘national identity’ in France. Against this backdrop, I became interested in understanding what I came to refer to as ‘communitarisation’ as a form of (self-)governing in the face of ethnicised biopolitics. I developed the analytical and methodological concept of the dispositif of communitarisation to describe the (self-)governing processes of Comorian communities through discourses, practices, institutions and subjectivations. Throughout the book, I analysed this dispositif along three dimensions, namely the spaces, cultural markets and politics of communitarisation, and showed how communitarisation is shaped by and in turn shapes ethnicised biopolitics in the context of postcolonial France. Based on the main findings of my analysis, I ref lect on the contributions and limitations of the dispositif of communitarisation and emphasise its relevance to the fields of Foucauldian methodology and theory, ethnography, migration and diaspora studies, postcolonial studies, intersectionality and critical race and ethnicity studies, especially in the context of France. In my concluding discussion, I focus on four aspects of my analysis to outline the usefulness of a

DOI: 10.4324/9781003111665-8

206 Conclusion

dispositif-analytical perspective on diaspora. I first turn to a discussion of the benefits of a dispositif-analytical ethnography putting a focus on events. I then concentrate on three aspects of my conceptualisation of communitarisation, namely communitarisation as performative, intersectional and as an ‘urgency’, to present their usefulness to analyses of diaspora. A dispositif-analytical focus on diasporic community allows for a de-­essentialising perspective on community, diaspora and ethnicity, while also pointing out the “urgent need” (­Foucault 1980a, 195) for ethnicised self-representations and communitarisation processes in the context of postcolonial France.

A dispositif-analytical ethnography Communitarisation processes broaden the perspective on ethnicised governing and self-governing practices in the context of postcolonial diaspora. In addition to highlighting practices of domination and of the self (see Foucault 1980b), communitarisation shifts the focus to how subjects are governed by being addressed or mobilised as communities as well as to how they govern themselves, that is, how they perform themselves as communities. In this regard, I developed an ethnographic approach based on a dispositif analysis, in which I focused on discourses, practices, institutions, spaces and forms of subjectivation in the context of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille. My research hence contributes to current debates on the relevance of the dispositif as a methodological tool (see Bührmann and Schneider 2008) in social science research in order to grasp governing and self-governing processes. In this regard, my research reveals the role of events with regard to a dispositif analysis. My focus on events allowed me to generate data on various dimensions of the dispositif by means of participant observations during events, expert and episodic interviews with actors involved as well as the collection of (­audio-) visual documents related to the events. The emphasis on events further corresponded with my interest in the performativity inscribed in communitarisation processes. Instead of a narrow focus on the aspect of ‘spectacle’ at the cultural and political events, I approached the events as manifestations of the dispositif of communitarisation and thus as part of ethnicised (self-) governing. This focus allowed me to understand how governing and self-­ governing in the context of communitarisation works through discourses and institutions – political, economic and socio-cultural – which also depend on being performed, that is, expressed in concrete practices. I could observe and become part of how diasporic community was performed in mobilisations of Comorian communities, in the staging of diasporic community during events as well as in subjectivation practices, that is to say, the ways in which members of the Comorian diaspora performed community belonging. As discussed in Chapters 2 and 3, the focus on events also ref lected my research process, in which I aimed at developing a methodological approach where I could be accountable to the positionalities of research participants as well as my own and view both as implicated in communitarisation processes.

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From this perspective, my interest in the ‘Comorian diaspora’ was thus part of the (re-)production of the dispositif of communitarisation to begin with. While one’s positionalities affect any type of data generation (see e.g. Littig 2005 on gendered relations), the focus on events broadened the spectrum of the performativity of qualitative research (see e.g. Diaz-Bone 2011) and research relations, as it took random encounters as well as highly staged interactions, such as official invitations to sit at a specific place during an event, into account. Analysing communitarisation through events hence allowed for a better understanding of the various social categories shaping communitarisation processes and how they are embedded in Self-Other relations (see Gunaratnam 2003 on relationality and research on ethnicity and race). In this way, the methodological approach of this book coincides with a rising interest in the role of events in shaping intersectional power relations (see e.g. Grabher 2022 on gendered relations). Whereas my focus on events does not correspond to a conventional ethnographic approach, it contributes to current debates on the relevance of ethnographic approaches in political science (see e.g. Pickel and Yanow 2009; Schatz 2009), as it shows how (ethnicised) biopolitics manifests in politics, culture and spaces.

Communitarisation as performative My analysis suggests that communitarisation processes and, as a consequence, ethnicised biopolitics need to be understood as performative (see Muñoz 2006; Tate 2005), as they depend on their constant reiteration through d­ iscourses, practices and institutions of diasporic communities. However, my analysis also shows the limits of a performative account of communitarisation, if not analysed in relation to institutional and material power relations, which also shape ethnicised biopolitics (Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2001, 51ff.). The concept of the dispositif then allows performativity to be re-situated within larger power relations, relating the performativity of ‘community’ to economic, political and cultural processes. The analysis of spaces of communitarisation shows how ethnicised biopolitics works through bordering practices that ascribe and fix Black communities and communities of colour to and in peripheral spaces of the city, for instance the quartiers nord, the Northern districts in Marseille (see Chapter 4). I argued that this fixing depended on the constant reiteration of Othering through policies, showing how biopolitics is characterised by a process in which “new formations of government are assembled” (Collier 2009, 80). In the case of the Northern districts, this re-assembling is ref lected in the interaction of the dispositif of communitarisation with security, social housing and urban renovation dispositifs. Spatial biopolitics then shapes cultural spaces and practices of Comorian communities and Franco-Comorian artists as they come to represent either ‘mixed’ or ethnicised communities, also going along with associations of ‘culture’ versus ‘tradition’ (see Chapter 4). Communitarisation processes hence affect both the dominant ‘multicultural’ or ‘mixed’

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community and ethnicised communities. Although communitarisation ­processes are the effect of ethnicised bordering, such borders are nevertheless negotiated by discourses and practices of Comorian communities. Even though the salles de fête, event halls in the Northern districts, ref lect the fixing of cultural practices of Comorian communities at the city’s periphery, they also represent a centre for community-related events and are related to diasporic cultural markets. The border can thus be understood as a ­performative concept: While borders need to constantly be re-installed through discourses, practices and institutions, it is also at the border that negotiations of identities, spaces and communitarisation take place (see Brah 2003). The dispositif of communitarisation further outlines the role of culture as an important sphere of ethnicised biopolitics, both as a form of practising “commonalty” (Brah 1996, 237) and also as a means of governing members of the Comorian diaspora through discourses of a ‘shared culture’ (see Chapters 5 and 6). I discussed cultural practices as part of cultural markets and showed how twarab (see Chapter 5) and the talent show Etoiles Rasmi (Chapter 6) ref lect different forms of ethnicised entrepreneurship (see Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2003). Twarab as a diasporic cultural market reveals the importance of the postcolonial context, characterised by ethnicised biopolitics in communityrelated contexts and shaped by cultural, economic and customary power relations between, on the one hand, members of Comorian communities in Marseille and, on the other, between members of Comorian communities in France and on the Comoros. Here, culture is part of regular fundraising activities to finance primarily infrastructural projects on the Comoros as well as to generate informal income to migrant artists. In contrast, the talent show Etoiles Rasmi ref lects middle-class “ethno-preneurialism” (Comaroff and ­Comaroff 2009, 51) among younger generations in which ethnicised ‘origin’ is viewed as a cultural resource for those seeking to re-position themselves as part of a younger Franco-Comorian generation in the context of ‘cosmopolitan Marseille’. Both cultural markets show how communitarisation depends on the ­constant reiteration of ‘cultural difference’ through narratives and practices (Brah 1996, 231). The emphasis on music as a communitarising practice outlines the performativity of music as a form of “communal self-development” (Gilroy 1993, 124), which also entails a play with difference, as it opens up ­possibilities to negotiate ethnicised, apparently fixed origins (Hall 1990, 225). However, the analysis of cultural markets shows how communitarisation depends on a temporal fixing of ethnicised identity as well as how music presents an important practice for ethnicised biopolitics, as it becomes representative of a ‘shared origin’, which tends to re-essentialise diasporic community (Tate 2005, 33). Against this backdrop, I also emphasised a performative account of tradition and custom (Brah 1996, 231), by showing how the re-­ traditionalisation of twarab as ‘Comorian tradition’ depends on a constant re-integration of this cultural practice in community-related economic and customary relations (see Chapter 5). I hence highlight an understanding of

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custom as biopolitical and as performative. The talent show Etoiles Rasmi (see Chapter 6) points to the fact that re-traditionalisation processes also take place in the context of ‘multicultural markets’ and that they are related to the commodification of culture in neoliberal contexts (see Comaroff and C ­ omaroff 2009). In this regard, I emphasised that the forms of subjectivation among younger generations defining themselves as Franco-Comorians are performative, as younger generations negotiate ethnicised ascriptions on the part of both the dominant society and Comorian communities. While younger ­generations contest the linking of culture with custom in C ­ omorian communities, these negotiations, however, also play into discourses of ‘­progress’, which promote ‘multiculturalism’ and contrast this with ‘­monocultural ­traditions’ (Haritaworn 2012, 10f.). In Chapter 7 on the politics of communitarisation, I proposed an understanding of political mobilisations of Comorian communities during the municipal elections of 2014 and departmental elections of 2015 as a form of postcolonial mimicry (Bhabha 1994). I analysed these mobilisations as embedded within a context of ethnicised biopolitics, where ethnicised communities are regularly instrumentalised for electoral purposes and ethnicised politicians are ascribed the role of ‘community representatives’ (Peraldi and Samson 2006, 263ff.). However, Franco-Comorian politicians also practise communitarised politics, as they draw on ethnicised origin and community as political resources and perform the role of community brokers. The positionality of community broker again ref lects the performativity inscribed in biopolitics, as postcolonial collaborations are fostered by ethnicised politicians, in this case between Marseille’s political establishment, Franco-Comorian politicians and customary and religious elites of Comorian communities. However, by performing the role of community brokers, Franco-Comorian politicians also articulate community membership and contest a mere framing of ethnicised origin as an individual resource and thus stake a claim for ethnicised communities in the ‘national community’. Community brokers thus represent a form of ethnicised (self-)governing in postcolonial France. As my analysis shows, this form of subjectivation also shapes discourses and practices of Comorian communities in the context of spaces and cultural markets, ref lected in the role of single Franco-Comorian associations as ‘interlocutors’ between other locality-related associations and event halls or in the subject position of ­Franco-Comorian artists as brokers between ‘local’, that is, ‘community cultures’, and ‘global’ cultures (see Chapter 4). The analysis hence suggests that ethnicised biopolitics depends on ­performative practices of Othering, even though it is also through the ­mobilisation and performance of ethnicised community as a political, cultural and economic resource that members of the Comorian diaspora in Marseille govern themselves. Communitarisation then ref lects multiple forms of governing and self-governing. It is not only about the relation between dominant and marginalised communities (Hall and Jefferson 2006, ix), but also about other kinds of relationships: those between different Comorian communities,

210 Conclusion

between Comorian and other ethnicised groups as well as between communities in the diaspora and on the Comoros. These forms of governing and self-governing differ according to social categories, as I emphasise in the next section on communitarisation as intersectional.

Communitarisation as intersectional In migration and diaspora research, the focus on ethnicisation processes has been critically debated for a long time, as it tends to fix experiences of migration and diaspora within a ‘methodological nationalism’ (Wimmer and Glick Schiller 2002) or ethnicisation paradigm (Anthias 1998). While I agree with this criticism, this book shows the continuous importance of e­ thnicisation and racialisation as a critical site of biopolitics in the context of postcolonialism and postcolonial diaspora (see e.g. Haritaworn 2012; Tate 2005). However, communitarisation is more than ethnicisation and hence facilitates an understanding of the ways in which various practices of community are shaped by intersecting power relations. In this regard, the dispositif of communitarisation ref lects the interplay between French postcolonial and community-related power relations and thus points to the importance of taking into consideration the role of postcolonial power relations in the context of intersecting power relations (see e.g. El-Tayeb 2011; Stoler 2011). The analysis of cultural markets especially highlights the intersection of ethnicisation and gendered relations in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation. In the context of the talent show Etoiles Rasmi, gendered and ethnicised relations were discussed with regard to music as a cultural practice of transmission of experiences of diaspora from older to younger generations, embodied by the mother. Although this association reproduces the female body as the ‘carrier’ of ‘tradition’ and ‘culture’ (Anthias 1998, 573), I also showed that the meanings and practices ascribed to this form of transmission also went hand in hand with a valorisation of the productive and reproductive work of mothers in the context of Comorian communities. Twarab as a cultural market reveals the intersectional power relations at work in Comorian communities in terms of racialised and gendered divisions of labour, with (older) men performing public activities and (older) women taking on reproductive tasks, and community-related gendered practices and spaces, ref lected in women-only cultural spaces. In my analysis, I placed a special focus on the experiences of twarab artists and showed how their positionalities are shaped by and in turn shape ethnicised biopolitics as they are ascribed the role of ‘community artists’. They are assigned this role due to their position as postcolonial migrants in France as well as because of an understanding of cultural work as a ‘community contribution’ on the part of Comorian ­communities. This communitarised positionality of artists in the twarab community is further embedded within gendered and class relations, which result in specific forms of marginalisation and gendered strategies on the part of female twarab artists. Community-related events thus represent important

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spaces of performance and sources of (informal) income for Comorian artists, especially for female artists, and show the importance of communitarisation as a social and economic network in the context of diaspora (see Fritsch and Hamada Hamza 2021). Although gendered relations were a central focus in my examination of cultural markets, in the analysis of spaces and politics, I did not place a ­systematic emphasis on gendered relations – a limitation of my intersectional analysis – but instead concentrated on other intersections of power relations in the context of communitarisation. This decision was the result of the predominance of customary power relations in the context of the dispositif of communitarisation and generational relations. With regard to all three dimensions of the dispositif of communitarisation, my analysis confirms existing research on the Comorian diaspora and/or the Comorian society, which emphasises the role of customary power relations, aada na mila, shaped by the intersection of locality, ­ ireche-Slimani and age classes, gender and generation (see e.g. Blanchy 2010; D Le Houérou 2002; Walker 2010). Customary power relations are ­embodied in the notabilité, the male customary elite, which engages with cultural practices by heading locality-related Franco-Comorian associations (see Chapter 5), but which also participates in political events as ‘community representatives’, as outlined in Chapter 7. Understanding customary power relations as biopolitical contests essentialising perspectives on the ‘importation’ of power relations from the ‘home country’ and additionally takes into consideration how community-related power relations interact with postcolonial power relations in European societies as well as how these interactions are embedded in genealogies of ethnicised Othering, which fix ethnicised communities in ‘traditions’ (Guénif-­Souilamas 2006, 33f.). Customary power relations are thus anything but ‘stable’ and are constantly rearranged in different contexts and in accordance with the power relations at work. The predominance of the category of locality further complicates the relationship between communitarisation and ethnicisation processes. On the one hand, the analysis shows how both cultural and political mobilisations promote a ‘Comorian identity’, which intersects with membership to specific localities. In this regard, the intersection of locality and ethnicity ref lects majority relations in the context of the Comorian diaspora, resulting in the dominance of specific articulations of Grand-Comorian culture and norms – namely those related to custom – as these are represented as part of a generalised ‘Comorian identity’ (see Chapters 5 and 6). As I outlined throughout the book, such representations ref lect external ascriptions – and thus governing through homogenisation – to the same degree as they do self-governing mechanisms. In this regard, cultural and political practices of younger generations reveal a tension between ethnicity and locality in communitarisation processes, as younger generations’ cultural and political practices emphasise articulations of ethnicised membership which depart from a focus on locality and thus customary norms. Younger generations’ self-identifications as FrancoComorians shows the importance of hyphenated identities in the context

212 Conclusion

of postcolonial France and especially among younger Black generations and generations of colour (see e.g. Mielusel 2019; Sharma 2016). The relationship between Franco-Comorianness and younger generations also shows how ethnicisation processes are related to class, as this subject position goes hand in hand with a middle-class position and nationality. This prompts the questions of who can articulate Franco-Comorianness in the first place and who does not have access – socially, economically and politically – to the first part of the hyphen. In this regard, further research is of interest with regard to the role of gendered relations in affecting ethnicised (self-)governing practices (see e.g. Gutiérrez Rodríguez 2001). Moreover, with my analysis of the spatial intersection of ethnicisation and class relations in mind, further research on the intersection of gendered and ethnicised spaces (see e.g. McKittrick 2006; Stepanik 2019) and their effects on ethnicised communities in different contexts would contribute to a better understanding of intersectional biopolitics and space. More generally, given the rise of populist and racist discourses in different parts of Europe, the dispositif of communitarisation is useful for understanding Othering practices at work in other European societies – for instance, the ‘parallel society’ discussed in the German-speaking context (see e.g. Bukow, Yildiz, and Hill 2015) – and their relationship with genealogies of postcolonial Othering. Given the rise of anti-Muslim racism in European societies, it is very important to analyse the relationship between communitarisation processes, ethnicised biopolitics, religion and gender in more depth (see e.g. Auga 2020). Moreover, and following Brah (1996, 205), diasporisation ­processes affect not only those marked as diasporised subjects, but also those marked as part of the dominant society. Consequently, research on communitarisation processes could start by not focusing on one (diasporic) community, but by conducting research on practices of communitarisation beyond ethnicised and racialised markers. This kind of approach might contribute to discussions on how to do intersectional research without reproducing the ­biopolitics inscribed in social categories and ref lected in the practice of re-categorising and re-ascribing categories to groups of people.

Communitarisation as ‘urgency’ I end this concluding discussion by returning to a main dimension of ­Foucault’s concept of the dispositif, that is, the ‘urgency’ (Foucault 1980a, 195) to which dispositifs form a response through specific strategies. This dimension of the dispositif was crucial for me to relate communitarisation processes to specific ‘problems’ and ‘needs’ addressed by members of the Comorian diaspora. A dispositif-analytical perspective on postcolonial diaspora hence also needs to ask for the different political, economic and socio-­cultural contexts in which communitarisation processes take place or which ‘require’ communitarisation in the first place. Thus, ethnicised (self-)governing represents a strategy in the dispositif of communitarisation which responds to urgencies

Conclusion  213

concerning postcolonial France and the Comorian diaspora in France. There are three central elements to ethnicised self-governing as a strategy to cope with problems in postcolonial France. Firstly, ethnicised (self-)governing ref lects the broader context of postcolonial France in which ethnicised communities have been marked as the Republic’s ethnicised Other (see Blanchard, Bancel, and Lemaire 2005). As already outlined in Chapter 4, in the context of Marseille, the quartiers nord are subject to spatial Othering along the intersection of ethnicisation, racialisation and class relations. This spatial Othering was highly present in my research, as evident in the fact that community-related cultural events mainly took place in spaces at the periphery of Marseille, that most research participants lived in the Northern parts of the city, or that the location of Comorian culture in the Northern districts was addressed as a problem or a solution, depending on who one asked, as for example in the context of Marseille as European Capital of Culture, where performances of Comorian culture were particularly organised in the Northern districts in order to show the importance of these spaces of the city in the context of diaspora (Chapter 4). Central to spatial Othering were discourses on the ‘problem of criminality’, also mainly associated with the quartiers nord and especially affecting communities of colour. With regard to both political mobilisations and cultural markets, it became evident that the criminalisation of the ‘Comorian community’ in public and political discourse strongly inf luenced ethnicised self-governing in terms of experiencing an urgent need to respond to such accusations with ‘positive images’ (see Chapters 6 and 7). The emphasis on ethnicised community instead of religion, which is in line with the legible subject position of the “secular Muslim” (Guénif-Souilamas 2006, 38), also shows the impact of anti-Muslim racism in shaping ethnicised self-governing practices among Muslim Black communities in France. Faced with ethnicised Othering, members of the Comorian diaspora mobilise ethnicised origin as a political, economic and cultural resource and re-position themselves as an ethnicised community in France. These mobilisations indicate, secondly, the ‘need for an identity’ in postcolonial France, where ethnicised identities have been rendered invisible by Universalist and assimilationist discourses of Frenchness and where Black populations and populations of colour have been fixed in their ‘origins’. Consequently, representation works through communitarisation, as becomes apparent in the contexts of cultural markets and politics. Black and populations of colour are governed by being addressed as ‘communities’ in dominant discourse; at the same time, by positioning themselves as ‘communities’, they also make political and cultural claims. My analysis hence suggests that communitarised politics and cultural representation are not only present in the marginalised ‘community sphere’, but also shape the dominant cultural and political sphere in France. The predominance of discourses and practices of ethnicised communities ref lects neoliberal discourses of diversity management (see Sauer 2007), but also emphasises the communitarisation processes shaping the

214 Conclusion

dominant ‘national community’, which continues to be shaped by ethno-nationalism and h ­ egemonic whiteness (see Fassin and Fassin 2009). In the context of diaspora, however, the need for an identity, thirdly, not only concerns cultural, political and economic representation as an e­ thnicised group in interactions with French institutions, but also applies to Comorian institutions, indicating the postcolonial context of ethnicised (self-)governing. Twarab as a diasporic cultural market shows the embeddedness of this need for an identity within the economic and customary power relations between members of Comorian communities in France and of different localities on the Comoros (see Chapter 5). Here, discourses and practices of cultural identity respond to economic dependencies of localities on the Comoros, which rely on funds collected by individuals and associations in France. In contrast, members of Comorian communities in France depend on social recognition, demanded by customary norms, of localities on the Comoros. In the context of diaspora, communitarisation processes hence not only r­ ef lect Othering in France, but also speak to governing and self-­governing in a translocal context, asking for a reconceptualisation of the relation between French ­Republicanism and ethnicisation processes in the context of postcolonial ­relations in France and between metropolitan France and former colonised spaces. The various political, economic and socio-cultural relations between members of Comorian communities in France and of members of localities on the ­Comoros not only ref lect multiple forms of belonging, but also inf luence how members of the Comorian diaspora practice communitarisation in France and in relation to the Comoros. The apparent problem of ‘communautarisme’ then needs to be situated within the context of postcolonial France and the crucial debate on the (non-)place of Black communities and communities of colour in politics and cultural representations. The predominance of ethnicised (self-)governing in culture and politics, as outlined throughout the book, shows that discourses and practices of French Republicanism and ethnicisation processes are strongly related, not only in the form of Othering, but also as a form of (self-)governing among ethnicised communities and, as a result, also among the seemingly unmarked dominant (white) community. While ethnicised self-governing plays into neoliberal forms of governing through ‘diversity’, performing ethnicised community in politics and culture also blurs the boundaries of the Republic and its ethnicised Other, as the Other becomes part of the Self. My examination of communitarisation then reveals the ambivalence inscribed in its relationship to the Republic, as ethnicised subjects are urged to capitalise on their ‘origin’ in the domains of culture and politics, though in an individualised manner rather than one emphasising their membership in ethnicised communities. What emerges as central to communitarisation in the context of diaspora is its resisting character, as the analysis of communitarisation shifts the focus from individual performative practices to the performative practices of and as ­communities. The central issue is thus not to strengthen the (Western) dichotomy between ‘individualism’ and ‘communitarianism’ (Mayer 2005, 14), the

Conclusion  215

latter often associated with Black and African communities (Chilisea 2012, 275ff.), but to situate communitarisation processes in the context of postcolonial power relations shaping European societies. In the context of France, communitarisation processes negotiate and transform ethnicised realities, as members of postcolonial diasporas contest assimilationist discourses and practices of French Republicanism and inscribe their particular experiences as ethnicised communities in postcolonial France. The analysis put forward in this book hence emphasises the ‘urgency’ for further engagement with postcolonial power relations in the context of France as well as in other European contexts, and an examination of how these operate through ethnicised biopolitics, which also affects the self-governing of diasporic communities.

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Index

Note: Italic page numbers refer to figures and page numbers followed by “n” denote endnotes. aada na mila 3, 9, 13, 101, 108, 111–112, 123, 131, 211 AFED (Association Franco-Comorienne pour l’Entreprenariat et le Développement/Franco-Comorian Association for Entrepreneurship and Development) 127 affaire de Creil 5 African diaspora 3, 174 Africanness 3–4, 103 age classes 9, 13, 42, 108, 111–112, 115, 188–189 agency 34, 36 Ahamada, Saïd 190, 204n10 Ahmad, Abdoul-Malik 4, 40, 116, 140n6 Ahmed, Sara 53, 56 Ahmed, Zaïnaba 125, 150, 159, 161–162, 164 Ali, Ibrahim 84–85 Ali, Mohamed 14, 39, 182, 188–189 Amir, Salim Ali 109–110, 161 ANIF (Association Ngomé d’Itsandra en France/Association Citadel of Itsandra in France) 82, 113, 171 anti-Muslim racism 5–6, 10, 59, 177, 212–213 Arab identity 105 Arab music 104–105 Arab myth 103 Arabness 3, 103 artistic work: as ‘community contribution’ 130–134; and ‘World Music’ 155 associations villageoises 38 Assoumani, Azali 183 Azihar, Petit 122

Babel Med Music Festival 88 Bancel, Nicolas 26, 70 bangwe 76 banlieue 26, 69–70, 153–154, 177, 183 Belorgey, Jean-Michel 177, 194 Bhabha, Homi K. 14, 28, 171, 184, 193; concept of mimicry 36–37, 50n7, 171, 188 “bio-inequalities” 32 biopolitics 8; defined 29; and dispositif 23, 29; ethnicised see ethnicised biopolitics; Foucault on 29; gendered 160–161, 163–164; intersectional 188; performativity of 188; and space 68; space and securitisation 72; and subjectivation 33 Biopolitics of Mixing (Haritaworn) 31 The Birth of Biopolitics (Foucault) 30 Blackness, relevance of 4 Black Skin, Black Masks (Tate) 35 Black Skin,White Masks (Fanon) 185 Blanchard, Pascal 26, 70 Blanchy, Sophie 181 Bodies that Matter (Butler) 34 Bouamama, Said 192 Brah, Avtar 13, 79, 141; Cartographies of Diaspora 68; commodification of culture 31; concept of diaspora space 27; cultural artefacts 35; on diaspora 25; notion of home 27 Brubaker, Rogers 7 Bührmann, Andrea 25, 33 Butler, Judith 34 Caglar, Ayse S. 148 Cagnolari,Vladimir 85

220 Index Cartographies of Diaspora (Brah) 27, 68 Carvajal, Andrés 11, 52, 102 Castro Varela and Dhawan 37 centre-ville/city centre 74–78, 77 Chamsia Sagaf 125, 161, 163 Charlie Hebdo 21n9, 177 Cheikh, Said Mohamed 108 Cheikh, Sulaiman Mzé 108, 150, 161, 164 Christie, Rachel 185 cité 73–74, 78–79 ‘classes populaires’ 32 clientelism 6, 177–178 Collectif des Indignés de la Cité Phocéenne (CICP) 14 ‘colonial fracture’ ( fracture coloniale) 26 colonialism 70, 104, 106, 185–186; and ethnography 10; French 107, 196; neocolonialism/neo-colonial 2–3, 174, 193, 195–196, 198; and postcolonial power relations 30; racist Othering 26 Comaroff, Jean 142 Comaroff, John 142 communautarisme 2–6, 170, 173, 176, 178–179, 186–187, 194, 205, 214; ‘communautés électorales’(‘electoral communities’) 174; Muslim populations 5; “symbolique communautaire” (“communautarian symbolism”) 174 communitarisation 4; of centre-ville 74–78; ‘community brokers’ 183–188; community-building 6, 148; cultural markets of 13–14; dispositif of 1, 6–9, 23, 24–29; as governing and selfgoverning 6–7, 23, 29; ‘integration’ through 173–179; as intersectional 210–212; mimicry as contestation and postcolonial collaboration 188–198; as performative 34, 207–210; politics of 14–15; postcolonial collaborations 179–183; and postcolonial diaspora 24–29; representation through 172–179; spaces of 12–13, 66–94; as ‘urgency’ 212–215 communitarised spaces 67–68, 77, 78–83, 92–93; see also spaces community: defined 28; “encountered communities” 28; and gendered practices of transmission 159–164; ‘imagined communities’ 28; and tradition 159–164 community brokers 183–188, 192–195; artists as 13, 69; associations as 69,

80–84, 93–94; as ethnicised (self-) governing 14, 172, 209; FrancoComorian associations as 80–84, 93–94; politicians as 14, 172, 179, 198 community contribution: artistic work as 130–134; cultural work as 210; twarab as 130, 134; twarab figures as 131 “community pressures” 173 community-related power relations 33 Comorian communities 56–57, 102, 122; cultural practices of 145, 207–208; ‘custom’ in 143; and Gaston Defferre 175–176; identity constructions in 185; marginalised 143; marked as ‘objects of governing’ 170; mobilisation of 170, 205–206; multiple 122; new forms of organisation among 124; political instrumentalisation of 173; political mobilisations of 170–171; positive images of 178; practices and institutions of 102, 171; and “problem of criminality” 152; racist targeting of 177–178; and religion 178; representation of 174, 181, 188; role of 124–125, 192 Comorian culture 39, 59, 62, 89, 91–92, 110–111, 141–149, 159–160, 213; African-connoted 111; as custom 3; Grand-Comorian culture 117; hip-hop 153; see also culture ‘Comorian custom’ 109–116 Comorian diaspora 1–6, 11, 24–25, 101, 103, 111, 114, 145–147, 153–154, 158–159, 171, 180, 183, 193, 195, 205–209, 211–214; defined 2; and postcolonial France 2–6 Comorian identity 103, 108–112, 135, 174, 211 Comorianness: Comorian identity 103, 108, 111–112, 135, 174, 211; GrandComorian identity 109, 135 Comorian tradition 158, 161, 208 The Confession of the Flesh (Foucault) 24 Conseil Représentatif des Associations Noires (CRAN) 5 contestation, mimicry as 193–198 copropriété 73, 99n5 Cordonnier, Jean-Victor 180 cosmopolitan Marseille 189; and cultural promotion of ethnicised ‘origin’ 143–150; and performance of lullabies 163 ‘cosmopolitan spaces’ 153 Covid-19 pandemic 6, 72, 114, 133

Index  221 CRAN (Conseil Représentatif des Associations Noires/Representational Council of Black Associations) 185 creolité/creolisation 27 criminality, problem of 152, 178, 213 critical whiteness 51, 53 cult of domesticity 50n5 cultural artefacts 35 cultural broker 57, 92–93 cultural difference 28, 35, 101, 208 cultural entrepreneurship 102 cultural identities 34, 104 cultural mixing 90 cultural policies 85–87, 93, 134, 144 culture: Brah on 31; and custom 109– 124; double 143, 160; and economy 109–124; and ethnicised biopolitics 29–33; framed as a property 146; Hall and Jefferson on 31–32; mixed 87–93; popular 10–11, 32, 34–35, 84–85, 101, 108, 134, 146, 161, 163; and power relations 29–33; Swahili 106 custom: Comorian 109–116; and culture 109–124; and economy 109–124 customary power relations 9, 38, 58, 76, 108, 111, 123, 141, 181, 188, 208, 211; see also aada na mila Damir, Ben Ali 108 Danedjo, Ousman 85 d’Arrigo, José 177 Defferre, Gaston 174–176 de Jong, Sara 179 departmental elections 10, 14, 39, 170– 172, 182, 188, 190–191, 205, 209 Derrida, Jacques 34 development: actor, Comorian diaspora as 114–115; artistic 132; communal self-development 208; of Comoros 114; cultural 90; economic 186; political, in France 6 diaspora: African 3, 174; Brah on 25; Comorian 1–6, 11, 24–25, 101, 103, 111, 114, 145–147, 153–154, 158–159, 171, 180, 183, 193, 195, 205–209, 211–214; and ethnicity 28; Indian 27; politics 27; postcolonial 24–29; space 13, 27, 68 diasporic cultural market, twarab as 101–135 diasporisation: and ethnicisation 27; and migration 32; processes 26 différance 34 Direche-Slimani, Karime 71

discourses: dispositif as 7, 10; of diversity 192, 213; Foucault on 24; of ‘mixing’ 84 dispositif: and biopolitics 23, 29; as discourses, practices, institutions and subjectivations 7, 10; dispositif analysis/ dispositif-analytical perspective 26; Keller on 24; and postcolonial diaspora 24–29; and power 25; and urgency/ urgent need 9 dispositif-analytical ethnography 9–12, 37–42, 206–207; data analysis 41–42, 43; data collection 39–41 dispositif of communitarisation 1, 6–9 diss-identifications 61–62 diversity: discourses of 192, 213; diversity management 31, 179, 198, 213 Dock des Suds 66–68, 85–88, 144–145, 150, 172, 188–189 double culture 143, 160 economy: and culture 109–124; and custom 109–124 “encountered communities” 28 Englert, Birgit 22n11 entrepreneurship: cultural 102, 149; ethnicised 13, 208; ethnopreneurialism 31; migrant 31, 102; religious 114 ethnicisation: and communitarisation processes 28; and diasporisation 27; ethnicisation and criminalisation; as a political resource; as a process 3–4 ethnicised biopolitics 1, 29–33, 68, 90, 93–94, 102, 104, 142–143, 170, 172, 175, 207–210, 212, 215; and artists 125; authentic ethnicity 160; biopolitical approach/perspective 32; biopolitical immunisation 175; and bordering practices 207; and communitarised positionality 125; and communityrelated events 115; and culture 208; and entrepreneurship 102; ethnicised governing and self-governing 8–9; ethno-preneurialism 155; French Republicanism and 175; gendered and 160–161, 163–164; levels and processes of 153; and Othering 209; and postcolonial France 205; and postcolonial mimicry 198; securitisation policies 72 ethnicised bordering 66–94; classed, racialized and ethnicised borders 13, 27, 70, 73, 90, 93, 122

222 Index ethnicised communities 101–103, 176; colonial image of 180; community brokers of 193; cultural practices of 101; cultural representations of 150; discourses and practices of 141; and ethno-preneurialism 164; instrumentalisation of 176; mobilising 115, 124; Muslim communities as 177; political mobilisations of 170–171; and postcolonial France 213; and ‘professionalise’ cultural activities 146; and racism 175; and Socialist Party 175; as voting resort 197–198 ethnicised (self-)governing 198–199 ethnicised ‘origin’: and cosmopolitan Marseille 143–150; cultural promotion of 143–150 ethnicised Other: ‘Youth of the quartiers’ as 150–155 Ethnicité Républicaine, Geisser 175 ethnicity 31; ‘authentic’ 160; and diaspora 28; French Republicanism and 154, 164–165; performativity of 34, 35, 93, 143, 160; politics of 164–165; as a resource 148–150 Ethnicity, INC. (Comaroff and Comaroff) 142 ethnography: dispositif-analytical 9–12, 37–42, 206–207; focus on cultural and political events 9, 39, 42, 66, 206; white positionality 51–52, 62 ethno-preneurialism 142; and ethnicised communities 164; and performativity of Franco-Comorianness 141–165 Etoiles Rasmi 10, 13, 39, 41, 116, 121, 141–165 Euroméditerrannée 73, 75–76, 86–87 Fabian, Johannes 62 Fair, Laura 134 Fanon, Frantz 185 Fassin, Didier 32 Federation des Associations Comoriennes (FECOM) 182 Félix Pyat 72–74, 79 Fictions of Feminist Ethnography (Visweswaran) 52 For Space (Massey) 66 Foucault, Michel 6–8, 49n1; on biopolitics 29; concept of dispositif 23, 24; on discourses 24 France 3 152 France Plus 175 France Télécom 86

Franco-Comorian Chamber of Commerce (CCFC) 190 Franco-Comorianness 3, 141–165, 212; and ‘ethno-preneurialism’ 141–165; performativity of 141–165 Franco-Comorian politicians 148, 170–173, 178–179, 183–190, 192–194, 198–199, 209 French colonialism 107, 196 Frenchness 14, 143, 153–154, 157, 164, 171–172, 213 French Republicanism 4–5, 151; assimilationist 14; assimilationist practices of 150; and ethnicisation 5; ethnicised biopolitics and 175; ethnicity and 154, 164–165; sacralized secularism of 178–179; universalism 5 Front National (FN) 84–85, 171, 191 Garcia, Sergent 85 Gaudin, Claude 85 Gaudin, Jean-Claude 190 Geisser,Vincent 81, 173, 175 gendered biopolitics 160–161, 163–164 gendered practices of transmission 159–164 gendered relations 13, 32; division of labour 118, 120; practices of transmission 159–164; and spaces 60, 116–120 gendered relations and spaces 116–121 Gender Trouble (Butler) 34 generational relations 102, 116, 121–124, 135, 149, 159, 211; and differences 121–124; ‘younger generation’ 172, 190 gentrification 75, 100n7; spatial reconquest 85–87 Ghali, Samia 177 Gilroy, Paul 27–28, 107, 110, 157 Glick-Schiller, Nina 125 Gouverner Marseille: enquête sur les mondes politiques marseillais (Peraldi and Samson) 174 Gräbner, Werner 106–109 Grand-Comorian identity 109, 135 Grant, Charles 36 Great Marriage (Grand Mariage) 3, 105, 108–112, 117–118, 120, 123–124, 131, 158 Gueánt, Claude 177 Guénif-Souilamas, Nacira 4, 154, 178 Guérini, Jean-Noël 14, 39, 172, 182, 191 Gutiérrez Rodríguez, Encarnación 84

Index  223 Hall, Stuart 26, 28, 34–35, 103–104 Hamada Hamza, Mounir 1, 11, 40, 52, 57, 102, 124 Haritaworn, Jin 31, 32 Hassan, Mohamed 107 Heza, le chemin du taarab 10, 13, 39, 66, 85 Hilaali 128, 130 hip-hop 88, 92, 100n14 Histoires de Twarab à Marseille 1, 11–12, 40, 52, 102, 107, 122, 124, 128, 130 ‘homing desire’ 27 Honorary Consulate of the Comoros 148, 180 hybridity 7, 27 hyphenation 143, 164

La Plaine 75, 100n7 La Porte d’Aix 76–77 Lefebvre, Henri 75, 86 Le Grand Jury RTL - LCI - Le Figaro 151–152, 177 Le Houérou, Fabienne 71 Lemaire, Sandrine 26 locality 9; mdji 111; notabilité 76; political class of 111; politics of 134–135; -related associations 83, 121, 183, 209; as a social and spatial unit 111; social categories of 13, 38, 82–83, 102; see also customary power relations The Location of Culture (Bhabha) 36, 171

Ibrahime, Mahmoud 105, 180, 196 ‘imagined communities’ 28 imperialism: Omani empire 104 Imperial Leather (McClintock) 30 Indian diaspora 27 ‘indigène’ 21n8 Indigènes de la République 5 “insertion of communities” 173 integration 5, 30–31, 37, 114, 151–153; through communitarisation 172, 173–179; through ethnicisation 155; of women in madjlisse festivities 60 intersectionality 50n3 intersectional power relations 4, 27, 52, 60, 62, 102–103, 125, 133, 135, 143, 153, 207, 210 Islam 109, 176, 181, 185, 197; Muslim communities 5; radical 5; ‘Secular Muslims’ 178, 213 ‘Islamist’ 5, 21n8, 177 “Islamist extremism” (“islamisme radical”) 5, 177 ‘islamo-gauchisme’ 5, 21n10

Madjini, Za 85 madjlisses 58, 60, 113–114 Mangwana, Sam 85 Marseille 1; Comorian populations in 2, 70; cosmopolitan 84–85; discourses of ‘mixing’ 84; European Capital of Culture 2013 (MP13) 13, 66, 85, 144, 213; ‘movida marseillaise’ 85; multicultural 14; topography 69 Marseille Esperance 179 Marseille retrouve le Nord 90 Massey, Doreen 66, 80 Mayotte 2–3, 21n3, 38, 116–117, 133, 174, 195–196, 204n14; Maorais 174, 195–198; as Overseas department 2 McClintock, Anne 30 mdji 111 Mendjeli, Rachid 89, 90 ‘Middle Passage’ 3 ‘migrant entrepreneurship’ 31 migration: artistic migration 125–126, 128; colonial migration 171; postcolonial migration 40, 70, 128, 192 mimicry 14, 50n7; Bhabha’s concept of 36–37; colonial 171; concept of 14; and conscious 36; as contestation 193–198; double vision 183–184; postcolonial 14, 170–199; as postcolonial collaboration 188–193 mixed territory 90 mixing: cosmopolitan Marseille 84–85; métissage/mélange 84–85; mixed communities 68, 87–93; mixed cultures 87–93; spaces of 84–93; white spatial reconquest 85–87 ‘mixité sociale’ 90 modesty 162 Moore-Gilbert, 36

Jacobs, Anna 53 Kalé, Salim Ahamada 107 Keller, Reiner 24 Kerner, Ina 53 Khamis, Said A. M. 103, 108 Kilomba, Grada 55 kwassa-kwassa 21n3 laïcité 5, 176, 178 L’Amicale des Mahorais des Bouchesdu-Rhône/Association of Maorais of Bouches du Rhône (AMBR) 174, 196 Lapeyronnie, Didier 26

224 Index Mouvement des Indigènes de la République (MIR) 21n8 multicultural markets 14, 39, 141, 143, 163–165, 172, 205, 209 multicultural/multiculturalism 4, 31, 35, 84, 91, 153–154, 179, 209; multicultural markets 14, 39, 141, 143, 163–165, 172, 205, 209; see also ‘mixing’ municipal elections 10, 14, 99n3, 170– 171, 176–177, 188–189, 195, 203n2, 204n11, 205 Muñoz, José E. 35 music festivals 88 Muslim communities 177; as ethnicised communities 177 Mwali 2, 20n1, 38, 140n9 Mzaidié, Chébli 85 mzungu 57 Narducci, Lisette 192 national community 1, 4, 6, 9, 36, 42, 74, 164, 170, 172–173, 183–184, 198, 209, 214 naturalisation 31, 36, 179 navigateur 70, 99n4 ‘neutral French community’ 180 N’gaya 110–111, 113 Ngazidja 2–3, 20, 38, 76, 82–83, 103, 107–113, 117, 123, 125, 131, 134, 147, 180–182, 196–197 Ngoma des Îles 69, 130–131 Ninga des Comores 104, 109, 126, 128, 134 Noailles 74–77, 100n8, 128 Nomad’Café 72–73, 78, 82–83 notabilité 57, 76, 118, 179, 181, 189–191, 211; customary elite 57, 76, 118, 180–181, 183, 211; see also aada na mila Nzwani 2, 196–197 Office de Radio et Télévision des Comores (ORTC) 40, 109, 190 Omani Empire 106 origin 9; as cultural and economic resource 14, 146; ethnicised 13, 14, 27, 143–150; narratives of 89, 102–104, 107; see also entrepreurship ORTC (Office de Radio et Télévision des Comores) 40 Other 93–94; ethnicised 150–155 Othering 26–27, 58–60; ethnicised 72, 74; of quartiers nord 71; racist 156; SelfOther relations 9, 93, 186, 207; see also Quartiers Nord, youth of the quartiers

oukoumbis 120–121, 133 Pala,Valéria Sala 71 “partial representation” 179 Parti des Indigènes de la République (PIR) 21n8 Peraldi, Michel 86, 174, 179 performativity: of Black subjectivities 35–36; of ‘Comorian community’ 36; of ethnicised, racialised and cultural identities 34–35; of FrancoComorianness 155–164 périphérique 69 pieds-noirs 70 Planète Emergence 85, 90–93 Ploquin, Frédéric 177 policies: cultural policies 85, 90–91, 93, 134, 144; housing programs 68; urban renewal policies 68, 75, 86, 100n8 politics: of communitarisation and postcolonial mimicry 170–199; of ethnicised (self-)governing 198–199; of ethnicity 164–165; of locality 134–135 populaire 32 popular culture 10–11, 32, 34–35, 84–85, 101, 108, 134, 146, 161, 163; see also twarab postcolonial collaborations 179–183 postcolonial diaspora 1, 8, 11–12, 23–29, 51, 78, 102, 123, 148, 205–206, 210, 212, 215; African and Black diaspora 3, 110; Brah on 25; and communitarisation 24–29; concept of 24–29; and dispositif 24–29; “new politics of representation” 28 postcolonialism: fracture coloniale (“colonial fracture”) 26, 151 postcolonial mimicry: politics of communitarisation and 170–199 power relations: community-related 33; cultural 102; and culture 29–33; customary 102; economic 102; and ethnicised biopolitics 29–33; intersectional 4, 27, 52, 60, 62, 102– 103, 125, 133, 135, 143, 153, 207, 210 Programme Franco-Comorien de Codéveloppement 115 quartiers nord 12, 66, 69–76, 81–82, 87, 90–92, 99n3, 150, 153, 187, 192, 207, 213; see also Othering racialisation: and ethnicisation 35–37, 180; and ethnicised biopolitics 68; and France 53; as a process 4, 28

Index  225 racism 55–56; anti-Muslim 5–6, 10, 59, 177, 212–213; and ethnicised communities 175; in France 10, 185; institutional 185 racist Othering 156 radical Islam 5 Raibaud,Yves 89–90 RASMI-Paca (Rassemblement des Mitsamouliens-Provence-Alpes-Côte d’Azur) 61, 141, 144–148, 152, 156 regimes of mobility 125–127 remittances 114 representation through communitarisation 172–179 Republican citizenship 3, 5, 170 resource: ethnicity as 148–150 re-traditionalisation 13–14, 101, 109, 117, 135, 143, 149–150, 159, 161, 163, 165, 208–209; ‘invention of tradition’ 101, 149; reiteration of culture as custom 3 Rosenfeld, Lola 186 Saar, Julia 85 Sagaf, Chamsia 125 Saïd-Soilihi, Maliza 190 Salazar, Noel B. 125 salles de fête 12, 66–67, 69, 72–73, 75, 78, 80–81, 83, 93, 145, 149, 208 Salon Magallon 78, 80, 188 SAMBECO 150, 164 Samson, Michel 86, 174, 179 Schatz, Edward 11 Schneider, Werner 7, 25, 33, 66 ‘Secular Muslims’ 178, 213 Security,Territory, Population (Foucault) 30 security dispositif 7, 68; discourses of security 71–72; ‘space of security’ 68, 74; see also quartiers nord the Self 93–94 self-representations: as community 1; as diaspora 25; ethnicised 153, 206 Shepperson, George 3 Shingazidja 40, 57, 76, 108, 146, 155 shionis 81 Socialist Party 174–176, 191–192 Society Must Be Defended (Foucault) 29 Soprano 92 SOS Racisme 175 spaces: of communitarisation 12–13, 66–94; communitarised 78–83; communitarised spaces 67–68, 77, 78–80, 92–93; and gendered relations 60, 116–120; gendered relations and 116–121; of mixing 84–93; of security

68; spaces of ‘mixing’ 68, 84–85; “third spaces” 28; see also ‘mixing’ state apparatuses 49n2 subjectivation 33–37; and biopolitics 33; dispositif as 7, 10; embodiment 34–35; forms of subjectivation 7; Foucauldian notion of 33; and performativity 33–37; subject position 33; see also biopolitics, dispositif Swahili 40, 56; cultural studies 103; culture 106; music 104 ‘Tanzanian and Kenyan music’ 105 Tate, Shirley A. 35, 156, 185 Third French Republic 5 “third spaces” 28 Thréat,Yves 177 tontine 115 trente glorieuses 71 twarab: artistic work as ‘community contribution’ 130–134; as community contribution 130, 134; as ‘community identity’ 89, 103; as ‘cultural work’ 102, 130, 135, 210; as diasporic cultural market 101–135; gendered relations and spaces 116–121; generational relations and differences 121–124; intersection of culture, economy and custom 109–124; as musical genre 101, 150; playing with ‘origins’ 103–109; politics of locality 134–135; twarab artists 124–130; twarab ya meza 120 twarab artists: communitarised positionality 103, 124–130; twarab as ‘cultural work’ 102, 130, 135, 210 twarab ya meza 120 UMP (Union pour un mouvement Populaire/Union for a Popular Movement) 151 Union of the Comoros 114 urban renewal policies 68, 75, 86, 100n8 Ushababi 118, 123, 181 variété comorienne 161 Vergemeinschaftung 6 Vergès, Françoise 70, 89, 108 Vidal, Frederique 21n10 Visweswaran, Kamala 52–53, 56 Vivier, Geraldine 110 wadahas 117–120 Walker, Iain 4, 80, 112, 181 Weicker, Anna 53

226 Index Werbner, Pnina 153 What Immersion Contributes to the Study of Power (Schatz) 11 whiteness: critical 51, 53; italicisation of 64n1; marking 53–58; and postcolonial power relations 53 white spatial reconquest 85–87 World Music 88–89

youth: Black and youth of colour 144, 150–153; ‘youth of the quartiers’ 150–155 Zakaria, Houssen 70, 114 Zanzibar 56, 89, 104, 106–107, 120, 134 Zanzibar twarab 107 Zidane, Zinédine 154