Life Stories and Sociological Imagination : Music, Private Lives, and Public Identity in France and Sweden [1 ed.] 9781443865647, 9781443842730

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Life Stories and Sociological Imagination

Life Stories and Sociological Imagination: Music, Private Lives, and Public Identity in France and Sweden

By

Alexandra D'Urso

Life Stories and Sociological Imagination: Music, Private Lives, and Public Identity in France and Sweden, by Alexandra D'Urso This book first published 2013 Cambridge Scholars Publishing 12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2013 by Alexandra D'Urso All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-4438-4273-7, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-4273-0

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 Chapter One................................................................................................. 5 Setting the Context: France, Sweden, Identity, and Debated Understandings of Belonging Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 21 Theoretically Speaking: Life Stories, Sociological Imagination, and Making the Personal Public Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 37 Mon Pays: Faudel and Expanding the Possibilities of French Identity Chapter Four.............................................................................................. 61 Overload: Adam Tensta and Bridging Swedish Physical and Ideological Divides Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 89 Tying Loose Ends: Private Lives and Common Public Struggles References ................................................................................................ 99 Index....................................................................................................... 115

INTRODUCTION

When reading newspapers, Web sites, or other news sources originating from different places across Europe, it is difficult not to notice a growing trend of right-wing extremism and xenophobic backlash against immigrants and those of immigrant origin. As an American living in Europe, I have had a difficult time understanding the motivations behind acts such as bans on religious clothing and minarets, and the expulsion of nomadic individuals to another European Union (EU) state, particularly in light of both antidiscrimination laws and European citizens’ right to free movement throughout member states. Although it might be easy to explain or dismiss growing xenophobia as a transient consequence of the financial crisis, it would be shortsighted to write off these trends as merely a result of growing economic disparity. Rather, economic challenges appear to have exacerbated underlying negative sentiments that have been present for some time in different countries, although such sentiments are perhaps less visible to or heard about by individuals identifying as majority members of a society. Amidst this growing social disharmony, some individuals might wonder where and how they themselves fit into larger debates about identity, especially now that members of many European countries are forced to confront the challenges brought about by neoliberal marketdriven social policies and right-wing populist calls for a return to stricter border controls and limited immigration. Thus, for those individuals interested in exploring their own role in identity debates, this book offers an example of how one may connect oneself to and attempt to understand others by exercising a sociological imagination—a means of considering how individuals, no matter how far removed, are linked via the social structures or situations limiting their ability to participate as full members of a society (Lemert 2005; Mills 1959/2000). To provide a more concrete example of how one might begin to think about how lives and experiences intersect across social and national boundaries, I will offer a glimpse into my own journey as a multicultural individual crossing state boundaries, attempting to make sense of cultural differences and what it means to be depicted as an “other”. Situating myself within this context, I shall engage with the life works of two music artists—individuals who push boundaries and, in ways both subtle and

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more obvious, demand acceptance of minority viewpoints in larger debates about what it means to belong to a particular place. By connecting my own experiences with those of two public figures, this book shall offer interpretations of identity and the concept of belonging as understood visà-vis engagement with the life stories and texts of Faudel Belloua from France and Adam Tensta from Sweden. While it is not my goal to provide a comprehensive picture of the state of identity politics in France and Sweden, this book offers a starting point to discuss or begin to think about national identity in a more personal way, encouraging readers to critically participate in debates both within and outside of their own community/ies. As a white citizen of the United States, I believe that I have a personal responsibility to work to raise awareness and support respectful discussion about often taboo topics such as racism, white or majority privilege, ethnocentrism, and connecting the metaphorical dots between the material one engages with in popular culture and the greater cultural tropes or narratives that systematically prevent or discourage those outside the mainstream from asserting their voices. However, because of my position of privilege as a highly educated white American, I do not pretend that my own feelings of being outside the mainstream mirror the harsh realities that many in my own country and in Europe face. I am not systematically discriminated against based upon my skin color, and my socioeconomic status also limits my ability to personally empathize with those who are discriminated against based on both of these counts. However, as a woman, I do know what it feels like to have doors closed to me on account of my gender. Further, as someone who immigrated to Sweden and is not yet a fully participating member of its society (i.e., non-citizen, unemployed), my sympathy with those who are discriminated against has deepened, as has my own feeling that more voices must be heard in the debates addressing who has a right to belong and participate in society and why. I have been fascinated by the empowering nature of music and musicians’ life stories as a means through which one may contextualize insider/outsider dichotomies within the EU, and in the following pages of this book, I shall describe my study in a personal, more informal manner that allows for the reader to step inside the process of how the study was conceived. Chapter One details the process that led to the conception of this study and elaborates in greater context the reasons why examining how identity is negotiated in life stories seemed particularly urgent. Chapter Two is a theoretical exploration of the concept of living biography, providing insight into the importance of life stories as tools for understanding how individual struggles related to identity have wider

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societal implications. Chapters Three and Four are case studies discussing the living biographies of Belloua and Tensta, respectively, exploring how identity is approached in their work. Chapter Five will revisit the concept of living biography in relation to the life works of Tensta and Faudel, highlighting how working with life stories offers the possibility of being empowered with hope in a liquid modern period of uncertainty (Bauman 2007). The life works of Faudel and Adam Tensta were gathered and examined between fall 2006 and fall 2011. Thus, in the case of Faudel’s identity work in France, I do not touch upon events happening in the period just before and after the election of President François Hollande. Future studies considering changes in identity discussions and policy under Hollande’s presidency would be beneficial. Likewise, because my data collection for this study ended only one year after the right-wing Sweden Democrats were elected into Swedish parliament for the first time, the book does not address Adam Tensta’s more recent efforts to use both music and public appearances to provide a counter-discussion on minorities’ access to, and right to define, Swedish identity. Unless otherwise noted, all translations from French and Swedish are my own.

CHAPTER ONE SETTING THE CONTEXT: FRANCE, SWEDEN, IDENTITY, AND DEBATED UNDERSTANDINGS OF BELONGING

Through the presentation and analysis of texts and other phenomena produced by and about Adam Tensta and Faudel Belloua, the aim of this book is twofold. First, I shall open a discussion on new ways of thinking about identity. I postulate that identity is too complex to be understood unidimensionally as either solely performative or merely rooted in discourse; rather, identity is defined as a rich sensory experience comprised of many social factors, physiological experiences, responses, and actions. Departing from this widened definition of identity, I argue that ongoing engagement with the material produced by Belloua and Tensta, a process which I refer to as living biography, presents a unique window into how the artists “translate private troubles into public issues” (Giroux September 28, 2010) while providing a compelling departure point for further discussion on how the notion of identity is changing in France and Sweden and beyond. Second, in looking individually at how each artist’s life story has been constructed in the public sphere, I will offer a Millsian-inspired theoretical interpretation of how these artists attempt to negotiate alternative life stories amid popular culture narratives of national identities in their respective countries (Mills 1959/2000). Juxtaposing a widened understanding of identity against the life stories of Belloua and Tensta is a way of moving beyond existing constraints on definitions of identity while also seeing how individuals’ experiences are connected to public life and larger struggles in a “‘cycle of recognition’ between personal testimony and public history” (Thomson 1999, 32). Effectively, the examination of life stories becomes less a focus on the individual than a way for people to see themselves in relation to the struggles of others (Mills 1959/2000). To illustrate this last point, I will share insight into how my own identity struggles as a multicultural individual have provided a departure point for connecting the personal to the public, arguing that connecting struggles

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across contexts can yield remarkable awareness into how diasporic individuals make sense of the new and the old, the familiar and the unfamiliar. Faudel Belloua and Adam Tensta’s living biographies offer a unique opportunity to understand how identity is negotiated in France and Sweden today. Unlike other singers of the same genre of music, Belloua was born and raised in France. Thus, some might argue that he, as both a raï music singer and a French-born citizen of Algerian descent, has more agency and credibility to challenge existing notions of identity in that country. Additionally, Faudel’s life works are rich in the sense that they are comprised of widely accessible pieces that transcend the world of music. Faudel is more than a musician; he is also an actor and an author who has used his role as an author as a position from which to reflect upon his life story. What I find most compelling about him as a case study, however, is how public his personal struggles have been within the context of a society where privacy is highly valued. Adam Tensta’s life works present a fascinating study in related ways. A Swedish-born and -raised hip hop artist, Tensta grew up in a multicultural household located in a stigmatized suburb of Stockholm. Presenting himself as not only a rapper but also an activist, Tensta’s life works include the use of media such as music, Internet shows, blogs, Facebook, and Twitter. Rapping in English, Tensta addresses issues like discrimination and stereotyping in autobiographical songs and contests a right-wing monopoly on national pride in Sweden. Tensta’s efforts to make contact with his fans through the aforementioned technological channels suggest a desire to involve them in the development of his life story, opening a window into the process of his identity work. In the remainder of this chapter, I will briefly define key terms to be used throughout the text, followed by an explanation of the motivation of this study. Then, I will situate this project in a larger EU context in which the importance of identity has become more salient, followed by an explanation of some assumptions I carry into this study as a scholar.

Explanation of Key Terms Related to Identity A presentation of key terms that will be used throughout the text is instrumental to readers’ ability to understand the context of this book, especially as this study draws upon literature from across multiple disciplines in order to paint a wider picture of how discussions about identity take shape in a liquid modern world (Bauman 2007). Because disagreements over language and theories of identity are present both

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across and within disciplines, explaining the framework through which the reader can understand the assumptions and goals of this study is imperative.

Identity The notion of identity as used here is informed by the traditions of positioning theory, performativity, and by an exploration into the role of senses in understanding human identity in different circumstances. Positioning theory, which originates from Althusser’s (1971) notion of interpellation and was expanded upon by Davies and Harré (1990) and others (Harré et al. 2009; Harré and Slocum 2003; Anderson 2009), refers to how individuals “adopt, resist and offer ‘subject positions’ that are made available in discourses or ‘master narratives’” (Benwell and Stokoe 2006, 43). Viewed through a positioning theory lens, individuals are seen to have agency to “resist, negotiate, modify or refuse positions” (43) in struggles to claim or refute particular identities. The existence of dominant discourse narratives of particular subject positions (e.g., teacher, mother, carpenter) does not limit individuals’ agency in negotiating identities, as the narratives taken up by individuals who wish to occupy these positions are neither singular nor static, but are constantly subjected to changes and are challenged as societies continue and evolve though time. Assuming different subject positions goes further than merely stepping into or trying on different roles; it can also involve the disruption of “fixed identifications” (Bhabha 2004, 4), ensuring that roles do not remain static by virtue of having their legitimacy continually called into question. Individuals, in asserting or negotiating their identities, produce texts of various forms (i.e., modes) that shed light on how identity is performed by taking up or disrupting different subject positions. It is the production of texts—an act which assumes some level of autonomy on the part of the individual—that provides new windows for shaping (and showcasing) how people see and are seen. Although identity is often viewed from a Bakhtinian perspective (Bakhtin, Holquist, and Emerson 1986) as being transmitted mainly through words or texts (see Bhatt 2008; Hyland 2010), the understanding of identity used in this book is that of a phenomenon that is also represented, performed (Butler 1999; Riessman 2003; LaPointe 2010), or felt (Seremetakis 1994; Kierans and Maynooth 2001) through a range of signifying practices beyond the textual. Identity can be performed not only through the manipulation of visual features such as body language and dress, but also in the way that particular compositional elements of diverse modes of texts (e.g., the instruments chosen to play a song; the designs, colors, or historical references drawn upon in artwork or

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in activist demonstrations) are approached or selected when subjects take up or construct different identity positions. While individuals belong to different social groups and have different roles in society (e.g., father, teacher, yoga instructor, daughter, chemist, carpenter, friend, Canadian, Balinese), within such roles and in communities of practice (Wenger 1998) there exists a wide range of possibilities of how to do, be, or negotiate each of these roles—never mind the ways in which these roles, groups, and ways of doing intersect (Winker and Degele 2011) with each other! Thus, identity is simultaneously dependent on one’s different roles in society yet also open to the possibility of being shaped or constructed in the way that each individual sees fit. However, positioning theory and performativity are not sufficient to describe the understanding of identity put forth here, and this is where an exploration of sensory engagement with identity can fill in what I perceive to be a missing element of discussions of what makes up one’s identity. Although the limits of particular roles may be constrained by social mores, religious beliefs, or laws (Foucault 1972), I strongly insist on an awareness of the possibilities of experiencing identity I believe to be inherent in human beings, regardless of which space or place one is situated in or position/role one assumes or is ascribed. More bluntly, human beings, wherever we are, have tools to understand identity through ways that cannot be expressed in words: the senses. Identity is a full sensory experience, engaging not only the textual but also the visual, olfactory, aural, and tactile (Kierans and Maynooth 2001). The parameters within which the senses serve in relation to understanding/experiencing identity are excitingly broad. For example, a person’s identity can be shaped by one’s own choices of, or another person’s experience or engagement with, one’s: clothing, perfume, or hair color/style choices; posture, gait, state of health/mobility, or gesticulation; actions such as recycling, active civic participation, gambling, or growing one’s facial hair. While some might argue that such choices constitute performing identity or exhibiting characteristics expected of certain roles (Butler 1999), the idea of performance seems to emphasize an actor carrying out a specific role combined with the presence or expectation(s) of an audience. Sensory engagement with identity can be the result of interaction between individuals, but it can also be a solitary—and perhaps less conscious— endeavor. Further, the idea of identity performance, like the concept of a performance itself, suggests a beginning and an end, effectively deemphasizing the ongoing, developing nature of the self throughout one’s lifetime. Sensory experience of and engagement with identity, on the other

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hand, highlights the connection between the physical and the emotional in a way that supports a notion of identity as ongoing and evolutionary. Acknowledging that the way we touch, smell, taste, see, or hear the world around us accepts that how we make sense of reality has some biological ground from which every human being draws; yet, such an acknowledgment enables us to celebrate our humanity without suggesting or supporting a biological determinism. We all have sensory experiences; accepting this fact neither implies nor suggests that there are specific reasons as to why this happens in relation to the social groups with whom one identifies or is identified. Although Kierans and Maynooth (2001) reference drastically lifealtering illness as the means through which individuals use the senses to negotiate their new identities, their ideas are also particularly influential beyond the realm of life-altering disease. They state, “a person’s relationship with their body is pivotal to how they explain a changing universe” (2001, 240). I argue that although life-changing illness can certainly be a cause for reflection and self-evaluation leading to new understandings of reality and self-identity, one need not experience illness to either use or view the body and the senses as tools for understanding, asserting, performing, and negotiating identity. Indeed, “[t]he senses, like language, are a social fact to the extent that they are a collective medium of communication that is both voluntary and involuntary, stylized and personal” (Seremetakis 1994, 6). Thus, identity is a multifaceted term that is composed of individuals’ agency, how one is represented or performs certain roles, and how the senses experience and make sense of reality.

National identity National identity here refers to the sense of belonging or having allegiance to a particular group (e.g., American, French, Swedish) that usually has official recognition as a state. National identity can thus be represented as the assumed collective identity of members of a particular country, especially when such a country is presented in the dominant discourse to be composed of people who possess some kind of unifying characteristics. However, national identity can also cross official state borders, as in the case of the Sami in Northern Europe or the Romani across Europe, and such an identity may or may not have official recognition. Although the aforementioned two groups are not homogenous in either language or origin, it can be said that a shared history, beliefs, or cultural traditions and customs function as uniting factors when language

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or geographic origin vary slightly among individuals identifying as members of a particular group—whether or not such groups are internationally recognized as having nationhood. Unless otherwise specified in this book, national identity will be referred to as the (assumed) collective identity of members of officially recognized states. National identity may be defined, symbolized, or negotiated on both personal and official levels. On a personal level, individuals, working within existing discourses of national identities to which they belong, may redefine, resist, or challenge what it means to have a particular national identity. On a broader societal level, individuals may claim to speak representatively for or define the characteristics or essence of a national identity. It is important, therefore, to keep in mind that my use of the term national identity allows for members’ fluidity of interpretation and definition of the factors that constitute membership in a particular group. On an officially recognized level, different political bodies may represent a nation’s identity in a way that suggests a wider consensus of belonging (whether or not such beliefs are entirely accepted by members), and may also assert symbolic power on behalf of the nation’s members.

Citizenship Citizenship refers to the legal status granted to individuals (citizens) who are eligible for protections, benefits, suffrage, and other privileges associated with being a full, permanent member of a country/state1. What globally distinguishes citizenship is its feature of “exclud[ing] only foreigners, that is, persons who belong to other states” (Brubaker 1992, 21), although the extent to which foreigners are excluded is variable from location to location. Individuals who are citizens of a particular country may or may not have emotional connections to the country or countries in which they are citizens, and the expectations placed upon citizens (e.g., taxes, voting obligations, military draft) vary from country to country. Expectations of citizenship can be ideological in the extent to which states demand conformity of behavior. France, for example, is viewed as having a “state-centered, assimilationalist self-understanding” (Brubaker 1992, 14) of citizenship, in which conformity and allegiance to the state are insisted upon to a higher degree than countries such as the United States, where multiculturalism and the expression of divergent viewpoints are 1

Country and state are used interchangeably throughout the book.

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more widely acknowledged and protected. In this study, the use of the term “citizenship” is contrasted with “residency”—the latter of which may confer social benefits, legal protections, and in some cases, limited suffrage, yet is not a permanent, irrevocable status. Another facet of citizenship involves participation of some sort, although such participation may be passive by virtue of simply belonging and being present within the territory of a state. Residence in a particular society and the possession of its citizenship suggests that individuals do participate in varying degrees, whether social, labor-oriented, or other. Although residents of a country are also participants—often in similar or overlapping ways as citizens—citizenship confers additional privileges or protections upon citizens to which non-citizen residents may not be privy, namely the right to remain inside a country’s territorial borders.

Motivation of Study Colonial Fallout and Struggles to be Heard and Treated Equally First, we are in a time of continued unpacking of colonial baggage. This is manifested both by challenges to or leanings toward the “fixity” of national identity (Gest 2010, 19) and by widespread allegations of discrimination against those with origins in France’s former colonies. In such a climate of post-colonial tension, the question is raised about what it means when oppressed individuals insist on both having equal rights and on being heard in societies that have historically discriminated against minorities on the basis of their foreign origin. Diverse perspectives of and action concerning the question of French identity have arisen, ranging from those of the French government to those of citizens sharing their opinions and experiences via diverse pop culture channels. To start with, after years of national policy that supported the notion of égalité by neither acknowledging nor accounting for diversity before the law (see http://www.assemblee-nationale.fr/english/8ab.asp, Article 1, Preamble of French Constitution), the Sarkozy government took a turn to the ideological right in 2007 by establishing the Ministry of Immigration and National Identity. Such a move aroused suspicion among a significant portion of the French population, as discussions of national identity previously had been taboo territory broached only by those from the far right Front National (Meyran 2009)—a party known for its hostile attitudes toward immigrants and immigration. The Sarkozy Administration had also discussed the idea of revoking French citizenship from those of

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foreign origin who have committed certain serious legal offenses. Drastic measures and unsympathetic responses cast a shadow upon Sarkozy’s political career, and his proposal to create two levels of citizenship threatened to further divide French society and make certain people feel unwelcome. There is a shared sentiment of discontent over immigrant-associated and post-colonial-related issues facing French society, although the motivations of such discontent are informed by different (and perhaps opposite) reasoning. Within discussions about the historically race- and origin-blind perspective of the French government have been voices expressing frustration that Frenchness is a character trait expected of all, yet the benefits that Frenchness entails are infrequently accorded to those who are of recent immigrant origin—especially those with origins in the Maghreb (Echchaibi 2001). Issues such as social isolation, unfair popular culture representation (Hargreaves 2006), and origin-based discrimination are not disappearing, nor are they being addressed sufficiently to quiet public disapproval among some members of French society. Although discrimination is illegal, there is evidence that widespread job discrimination favors those with no recent immigrant ties (La France épinglée pour ses discriminations à l'embauche March 16, 2007; Astier November 2, 2005). The existence of plural perspectives about what constitutes national identity and access to it indicates that much remains to be understood in the realm of how individuals relate to, resist, and shape specific identities in post-colonial and—as in the case of Sweden—newto-immigration countries. The presence of social struggles based on ethnicity or foreign background does much to trouble the commonly held perception of Sweden as a beacon of democracy and equality—a perception in which the Swedish government invests heavily to uphold (see Pamment 2011). Although immigrants and those of foreign origin in Sweden do not live in a nation dealing explicitly with post-colonial fallout, a similar kind of unequal power dynamic suggests that individuals receive different treatment or have disproportionately limited access to certain social resources based on their status as native or non-native Swedes (Bideke and Bideke 2008; Dahlstedt and Hertzberg 2007; Discrimination: A threat to public health 2006; Lödén 2008). Regarding differential treatment, many of Sweden’s refugee immigrants—religious minorities included—face obstacles in having equal access to housing and jobs (Widespread segregation for immigrants 2009; Bideke and Bideke 2008). Education levels of foreign-born residents are comparatively lower than those of Swedish-born residents (Integration - ett regionalt perspektiv 2010), and

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the difference between employment rates of foreign-born residents and Swedish-born residents is significant, with percentage gaps showing more than a 30% difference in employment of foreign-born residents in some areas of the country (Integration - analysis: Considerable regional differences in employment among foreign born persons June 11, 2010). Challenges to the quality of life for those of foreign origin are not only restricted to the labor market. A recent survey on crime perceptions shows that foreign-born individuals or those born in Sweden to one or more foreign-born parents fear more for their safety than do ethnic Swedes, and individuals in the former group are less likely to have confidence in the justice system than are ethnic Swedes (Brå 2010). Those of foreign origin also have a higher tendency to believe that they are being racially or ethnically profiled by police (Bideke and Bideke 2008). However, concern and frustration over social challenges in Swedish society do not come exclusively from those with a foreign background. In fact, growing concern about changes to the Swedish way of life has been a preoccupying issue for some ethnic Swedes. Despite fairly stable levels of crime among those with immigrant backgrounds (Martens and Holmberg 2005), public frustration over perceptions of increased crime due to the greater presence of immigrants (Trondman 2006) may, among other reasons, be responsible for the growing popularity of the Sweden Democrats, a nationalist political party known for anti-immigrant rhetoric. The Sweden Democrats achieved parliamentary representation for the first time in the September 2010 elections (New poll: Sweden Democrats heading for parliament? August 3, 2010), further highlighting the growing support received by this party since their surprising gains in the 2006 elections (Erlingsson, Loxbo, and Öhrvall 2009). Although issues of discrimination against immigrants are addressed differently in France and Sweden, the fact remains that both countries have populations grappling with similar issues of unequal access to resources and resistance to what appears to be the dominant culture’s increasing fear of minority groups.

Concerns Related to Language and Identity Discussions of language and its relationship to national identity have sprung up in many places, especially in societies that have experienced an influx of individuals who do not speak the country’s official language(s). Often, such conversations have included debate over the importance of having a national language (Lödén 2008), especially when social integration is a concern (see Swedish integration policy 2009; Bideke and

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Bideke 2008; Määttä 2005). An indication of this trend is demonstrated by the recent changes to Swedish national policy on language rights, which, although subtle, may indicate feelings that Swedish identity is under threat by a greater presence of foreigners. Sweden, which previously did not have an official language, enacted a law in 2009 that declared Swedish to be an official language (see http://www.regeringen.se/content/1/c6/12/ 33/49/8f390fda.pdf). Although the policy confirms that everyone (including minority language speakers) has the right to use his/her preferred language, the timing of this provision occurs in a widerEuropean context of growing right-wing movements, backlash against immigrant groups, and rising Islamophobia. In regard to linguistic and cultural debates in France, efforts have been made to use language in such a way that more clearly defines who belongs in France and who does not on the basis of conforming to specific social expectations. In the naturalization process, expectations on foreigners place a higher than previous value on linguistic and cultural assimilation. Access to citizenship via naturalization has come under government scrutiny in recent years, with a candidate’s language ability carrying a heavier weight (France approves immigration curbs September 20, 2007). In order to become a naturalized French citizen, the eligible candidate must have an interview to verify his/her assimilation and language skills (Naturalisation: Conditions de recevabilité de la demande October 2, 2006). Beyond Sweden and France, the increasing relevance of language to debates on identity has become salient in the EU. In a broader context, the relationship of language to national identity faces increased attention during a period when national borders, including those of the European Union, become more fluid. Because individuals within the European Union are allowed to move to another member state if they have secured a job, the importance of language in a national context receives greater attention when EU states possess large numbers of immigrants (naturalized or not) who may live in areas with their fellow nationals, allowing continued use of their native language in a foreign context. The right to heritage language use within the EU2, particularly in dealing with EU institutions or local government institutions if citizens live abroad, is further complicated by the fact that more than 20 languages enjoy official EU status (see http://ec.europa.eu/education/languages/languages-of2

When the heritage language is one of the official European Union languages.

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europe/doc135_en.htm). This privileging of multilingualism at an EU level (A new framework strategy for multilingualism November 22, 2005) raises the question of who has the right to use his/her language on more local levels when the ability to speak one’s own language within the EU is, in theory, protected.

Debated Understandings of Belonging Often central to debates surrounding discrimination in post-colonial societies and societies possessing an increased presence of foreign-born citizens are larger questions exploring the significance of identity and what it means to be of a certain background, namely a citizen of the particular nation in question. Although countries such as France have attempted to address this question, thus far it has seemed challenging for public identity debates to be approached sensitively and respectfully (e.g., via intercultural praxis—see Sorrels (2010). While it is not clear how many foreign-born individuals must be present in a country to suggest a crisis of identity, what is certain is that in France, Sweden, Germany, Denmark, Italy, and the Netherlands, for example, there is now a critical mass of individuals present that are viewed as outsiders—otherwise such discussions about national identity and stricter immigration controls might not occur. When struggles for resources, unequal access to education and jobs, and segregated living conditions converge with a financial crisis such as the current one, a common occurrence in several countries has been a neoliberally-framed turn against minority communities, including those populated by citizens of the European countries they reside in, placing blame on such communities when economic stability is challenged. When loud voices dominate popular culture discussions by attempting to alienate specific groups within a country’s population, the issue of fair representation becomes increasingly important in relation to national identity and civil rights. Considering the current EU-wide backlash against immigrants or those otherwise outside of the mainstream—especially those accused of not assimilating—how can individuals living on the margins of dominant EU national groups be guaranteed representation? In regard to immigrants’ desires to feel a sense of national belonging in ways that are meaningful to them, native populations have frequently attempted to silence immigrants’ new interpretations of national identity (Grieshaber July 1, 2010). Such attempts to silence or expunge new voices and interpretations of identity narrow the space necessary for individuals living in democracies to gain a voice and claim a national identity negotiated on newly defined terms,

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placing European ideals of freedom at odds with these practices occurring across the EU. While a number of politicians attempt to blame immigrants for their societies’ problems, it is rare to hear about new contributions to discussions on identity that do not involve a submissive, uncritical form of assimilation. Diverse perspectives exist on what it means to be a member of a country, and the space for new voices must be broadened in the current debates addressing concerns of or about immigrants and those of foreign origin.

Project Relevance: The Larger EU Context Within the debates on national identity occurring over the past several years, public conversations, notably in France, Sweden, Germany, Switzerland, the Netherlands, and Italy, have explored the concept of national identity, often juxtaposing this topic with that concerning the presence of an increasing number of non-EU immigrants who do not submissively assimilate into mainstream culture. With regard to European immigrant populations, questions have been raised about who belongs in Europe and who does not. In Germany, complicated naturalization laws have prevented many Turkish immigrants from gaining German citizenship, which in turn has raised questions about immigrants’ real willingness to assimilate (Aktürk 2010). Switzerland recently fanned antiimmigrant flames by instating a ban on minarets (Dawson 2010). Geert Wilders, head of the Dutch anti-immigrant Freedom Party, has been orchestrating a movement to mobilize Dutch citizens against those of foreign origin, and Italian right-wing politicians, clergy, and citizens have protested the construction of mosques, sometimes using pigs or severed pig body parts as intimidation tactics. More recently, France and Belgium have instated burqa bans, despite each country having limited numbers of women who actually wear them (Visscher 2010). Such occurrences and concerns have triggered an important need to reexamine what it means to be a member of a European state within the greater context of the changing dynamic of the EU. The current financial crisis has also helped to expose this dire need for open debate. Public perceptions of many Europeans indicate worsening economic realities (Gallup 2010), and the children of immigrants face greater obstacles to finding jobs, much like their parents (Martin 2009; Schröder 2009). Consequently, now is an important time to contribute to conversations about identity, especially in light of the growing diversity of perspectives and voices engaged in popular culture debates on what it means to name and represent oneself in the public sphere (Shannon 2000). This book

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offers a starting point for such a discussion by focusing on two public figures in two of the EU’s member states.

Assumptions At the heart of my research priorities is the desire to gain insight into the human condition with the hope of fostering dialogue that leads to social change. The social injustice I have read about and seen firsthand on several occasions has served as the impetus for my motivation in conducting research that I hope will lead to a deeper understanding of and greater interest in protecting individuals’ civil rights. I believe that the oppression manifested in various acts of injustice stems from the oppressors’ belief that their lives and their interests are more important than those of the people who are the targets of oppression. Although oppressors may not be conscious of the fact that they hold power over others, they willingly aim to protect the status quo that places them in a favorable position from which to exercise power over others. Freire (2008) eloquently describes how oppressors exert power in this way: At first, the elite react spontaneously. Later, perceiving more clearly the threat involved in the awakening of popular consciousness, they organize. They bring forth a group of “crisis theoreticians” (the new cultural climate is usually labeled a crisis); they create social assistance institutions and armies of social workers; and—in the name of a supposedly threatened freedom—they repel the participation of the people. The elite defend a sui generis democracy, in which the people are “unwell” and require “medicine”—whereas in fact their “ailment” is the wish to speak up and participate (11).

In other words, the elite limit the power and freedom of expression of those they control or govern by redefining or attempting to redefine normality, creating a baseline ideal against which others are measured or judged. (While societies admittedly function with the assistance of laws and regulations, one must ask whether the environment in which people live encourages or discourages participation and conversation.) Inherent in the act of oppression, in whatever form it takes and whether or not it is consciously done, is a loss of respect and compassion for other human beings. This dangerous loss can spiral into a succession of beliefs, habits, and actions that continually reinforce unequal distributions of wealth and human potential, resulting in a damaged life experience for both the oppressor and the oppressed. A way to move beyond this kind of hurtful relationship is to encourage individuals to understand the experiences of the other so that they might

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recognize each other’s humanity and, in turn, care about the well-being of all people. This belief is in line with that of Freire (2000), who stated: [T]he oppressor is solidary with the oppressed only when he stops regarding the oppressed as an abstract category and sees them as persons who have been unjustly dealt with, deprived of their voice, cheated in the sale of their labor—when he stops making pious, sentimental and individualistic gestures and risks an act of love (50).

By purposefully stepping outside of our comfort zones to ask how our own concerns may be common concerns across society, we can begin to discover how shared struggles develop and unfold against a web of growing economic disparity and start to think about how we can use such knowledge to disrupt the status quo. In line with the previously mentioned goal to examine the living biographies of Belloua and Tensta to gain new understandings of how identity is manifested, this book takes up a social constructionist-informed approach (Gergen 2009). When reflecting upon my own beliefs about how debates on and claims to identity both arise and take shape, I found myself repeatedly thinking that a possible cause of social disharmony in several European countries is the existence of multiple perspectives on what it means to be a citizen or to belong to a particular community. Some tropes of citizenship are built upon the notion of assimilation, while others are sustained by the expectation of citizenship to be a cooperative or democratic coexistence. Within such existing perspectives, I seek to learn how Belloua and Tensta resist, renegotiate, and construct their identities. As such, I approach their texts and other phenomena with the aim of uncovering patterns among the lived experiences and motivations contained within. What I hope will be an exciting contribution to the field of education research is my exploration of what Richardson and Fowers (1998) refer to as the “dialectic process” (490) of identity building and negotiation in France and Sweden, as it is found in the living biographies of these two individuals. An important aspect of my theoretical approach is what Patton (1990) emphasizes as being instrumental to studies informed by hermeneutic inquiry—the inclusion and presentation of the researcher’s perspective. Kneller (as cited in Patton 1990) notes, the researcher’s interpretations of different texts is based upon his/her “situation” (85). In other words, “the researcher’s own perspective must also be made explicit” (Patton 1990, 85) so as to illuminate how different understandings emerge from texts. Because each researcher has a unique perspective, the possibility of understandings generated from engagement with texts is innumerable. In

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unpacking the materials used to build Belloua and Tensta’s living biographies, it is my aim to be as explicit as possible in explaining or providing a context for my assumptions and interpretations so as to indicate that they are my own perspective, rather than absolute truths.

CHAPTER TWO THEORETICALLY SPEAKING: LIFE STORIES, SOCIOLOGICAL IMAGINATION, AND MAKING THE PERSONAL PUBLIC

What Is a Living Biography? Background To better explain what a living biography is, I must first step back and explain what the term biography meant to me when I began to conceptualize the theoretical framework for this study. My understanding of the word biography was that of a written “snapshot” of a life: twodimensional and static, or at least fixed in time and thus immobile or immutable—what Hughes (June 28, 2008) refers to as “the recording of lived experience” (para. 22). I also believed that because biographies were written by specific individuals, such stories, by default, would inevitably include a perspective through which the reader would receive a filtered version of events—perhaps with some obvious bias or, more commonly, the perspective presented would be one attempting neutrality (Jensen 2009). One might argue that there is no way around this author bias; in order for a text about a life to exist, it must be created, someone must do the creating, and the text must be created in a particular context. However, in our scientifically driven world, obvious bias is a turn-off in a text that purports to offer a historical account of someone’s life. Conceivably to avoid the obvious appearance of bias, a common perspective used in biography writing is a so-called objective lens, meaning that the role of the author is that of an omniscient storyteller who attempts to chronologically and factually present significant events occurring in an individual’s life (Lambert 1995). Ursula K. Le Guin (1989) has problematized the notion of the objective perspective used in writing, arguing that it is a perspective of exclusion widely viewed as preferential to outright subjectivity, the latter of which leaves the speaker exposed and

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defenseless. However, as I will discuss later, I felt that acknowledging and embracing subjectivity in biography writing could help to widen understandings of how people relate to each other. Shantz (2009) has addressed the issue of perspective in writing about life stories, arguing that “researchers cannot escape their position in the world by reference to objectivity or science” (117). Further, he states that the researcher becomes personally involved in the process of life story writing, noting that biographical writing becomes infused with autobiographical elements of the author. The idea of researchers becoming a part of their work is a trademark of qualitative research studies, in which Patton (1990) argues that “the researcher is the instrument of both data collection and data interpretation” (54). Although Patton may not have intended this statement to apply to research writing falling under an umbrella term of auto/biography, what one can pull from his ideas is that we cannot ignore the impact that researchers, including those writing about life stories, have on the work they do; in fact, researchers are inextricably linked to the stories in the writing they produce (Ollerenshaw and Creswell 2002; Lyle 2009; Bruner 2004). It is interesting to consider the role of perspective with relation to life story writing, especially now that I realize that my own understanding of biography had been quite limited. Although lives have been depicted in texts of varying nature (e.g., visual, written) for hundreds of years (Hamilton 2007), the genre grew in popularity on both sides of the Atlantic during the 19th century (Podnieks 2009). During the early 20th century, scholars were discussing how the nature of writing biography had developed into an art of selection (see Podnieks 2009). The self-selection process associated with autobiography, a word that surfaced in the 1700s, has partly contributed to the genre’s discredit (see Folkenflik 1993). However, this art of selection is a liability, as more than a century later, biographical writing is still viewed with suspicion in academic circles due to what Podnieks (2009) refers to as the lack of a rubric by which to evaluate quality in a scientific manner. Biographical writing on pop culture figures is also treated with suspicion in academia, as Rollyson (2005) notes. He argues that viewing life writing as an art rather than as a factual historical account has contributed to the genre’s ill reception. It’s quite likely that my earlier belief that biography was a limited term was related to my own narrow or negative understanding of the genre’s possibilities; hence, I felt that I needed to come up with a better term to more accurately describe the phenomena of life stories that I found interesting, those being interaction and meaning making in the engagement with life stories. My general interest in life stories stems more

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from what public figures mean or represent to others and how those representations and meanings come to be; thus, the word biography as I knew it felt inadequate to describe life stories, as they are both situated in a society, developed or created by individuals, and also engaged with by its members.

Reasoning Behind Terminology: Living Biography The term living biography seemed fitting to me for a couple of reasons. First, representing the concept of biography as something evolving felt like a better way to describe a life story—especially one of someone who is still living—in light of the changing, fast-paced nature of new forms of knowledge taking shape in different modes (namely electronic or Internetbased ones). Second, and more importantly, I wanted my work on life stories to include an understanding of them as something that places emphasis on the engagement of individuals with the story in question; the act of interaction between the subject of inquiry and the individual engaging in such inquiry is significant to me. After all, an author of a biography can intend to impart a certain perspective (or none at all), yet what the reader of a biography (or any text, for that matter) understands and the meanings the reader generates or resists differ depending on who is doing the reading (Golden 1986). Focusing on the interaction between life story and reader does more than emphasize the evolving nature of a life story; doing so also emphasizes individuals’ agency in creating, interpreting, and making new meaning of a life story. Thus, as the tasks involved in living biography work are different in the sense that each individual’s role is important to the generation and negotiation of knowledge, the ways in which we talk about those who become engaged with texts of different types must adapt as well. The description of the terms that follow is provided in order to emphasize this interactive nature and agency inherent to living biography. For the purpose of describing the ways in which individuals understand or relate to the subject of inquiry, i.e., the person whom the living biography ostensibly revolves around, I use the term agent-persona relationship. Agent replaces the notion of a reader, the latter of which may not only connote passivity but also is no longer adequate to describe the active ways in which one is engaged with life story paraphernalia. Persona describes the initial knowledge-creating and -disseminating individual (and his/her public representations) that the agent seeks to understand. Although the term agent has been used to refer to the subject of a life story (Bruner 2004), I think this word better describes the individual engaged

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with a life story because it reminds one that meaning making goes in both directions. In addition to the aforementioned reasons, I also liked the phrase “living biography” because it seems to better stress another evolutionary aspect of life stories—how their significance can shift as time passes and contexts change. After all, life stories do not cease to exist when a persona dies; people may fall off the metaphorical radar, but the possibility exists for their stories to continue being meaningful to others who are living. As such, life stories continue to take on new meaning, even as more time passes and the period in which the subject of inquiry was actually living becomes further distanced from the present. However, what I find most exciting about living biographies is that they are an ongoing process of understanding between the agent and persona rather than a story with a marked beginning and end. As long as the agent continues to engage with objects or texts produced by and/or about the persona, the story of the living biography—the interaction between the two—continues to grow, as do the new meanings and knowledge produced from such interactions. While much has been done in the investigation of reader response to texts (Rosenblatt 1978; Chase and Hynd 1987; Benton 2005), limited work has been done to investigate the understandings of identity generated between agent and persona in life stories. The notion of development in life stories has been discussed by Taylor and Littleton (2006), who have studied the changing nature of identity in different episodes of talk. Although such work recognizes that talk is given meaning through the context in which it is situated and that sometimes speakers edit talk based on what Taylor and Littleton call “imagined or previously experienced audiences” (24), there remains a need to investigate the understandings and meaning made during the interactions occurring in living biography work, especially as these develop over time. Lucy Green (2005) has addressed the interactive nature associated with music as both a source of output and an item subject to influence by listeners—a connection that may be related to the interaction occurring between agents and personae. By highlighting that not only do individuals socioculturally orient toward music in different ways, but also that music “acts back upon us, through its capacity to influence our beliefs, values, feelings, or behavior” (83), Green provides a way of thinking about the interaction between an object of inquiry and those who are engaged with it. However, such an analysis that focuses on an object or a single text rather than on the producer of such an item limits the producer’s agency in the meaning negotiation process found in living biography work. Although one might argue that music can have a tremendous influence on

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individuals, such an influence might be limited to single units (e.g., song, concerto), whereas an examination of a larger range of items produced by a persona offers a greater opportunity for understanding how a life is represented through a series of texts. Because a living biography is an ongoing and individual process of understanding, each individual has a different relationship to the persona. As such, in this book I document in written form the living biographies of Faudel and Adam Tensta as they exist for me as a researcher in this particular moment in time. Thus, my living biography of these individuals is openly exposed and defenseless in its subjectivity—and happily it is such. Less happily, by committing the living biographies to written text, I expose one of the challenges of doing a living biography: that the meaning negotiation process must be stopped (and thus frozen in time) in order to be documented so that others may learn about how the process has taken shape. However, for others to understand how I make sense of the concept of identity vis-à-vis Faudel’s and Adam Tensta’s life stories, I must stop and actually write down these stories. Stopping does not, I believe, revert the notion of a living biography back to my aforementioned interpretation of what a biography is, as my understanding of biography is not that of a genre with a strong focus on the interplay or knowledge negotiation between agents and personae. A living biography does not attempt to delineate a clear beginning and end, as many traditional biography texts may. Although I will be committing these living biographies to text for the purpose of providing examples of what living biographies look like, they will continue to develop long after the final pages of this manuscript are printed. As Aarelaid-Tart (2010) has stated, “a human life is an unfinished project” (416); in turn, so too are living biographies unfinished. This state of being unfinished should be viewed as an exciting invitation for learning and discovering how we relate to others—especially when viewing such connections through a sociological imagination (Mills 1959/2000)—rather than as a reason for concern.

Theorizing Living Biography Now that I have explained the significance of meaning making between the persona and the agent, I must elaborate on another important aspect of a living biography: the modes of which it is comprised. In tandem with the conceptualization of a living biography being a life story that one is engaged with and within which one negotiates meaning, one must also consider the role that social forces such as the media,

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consumption based/consumer driven economies (Giroux 2011), and the ability to effectively produce and edit our presence in the public sphere (Bauman 2008) play as they converge in a vortical process of meaning making and discernment of who we are in relation to those around us. Such forces are often made tangible through texts that afford opportunities to shed light on and challenge existing ways of understanding identity struggles occurring in the pop culture curriculum—a curriculum through which we are both teachers and students who disseminate, create, resist, and learn ways of being. Texts found in such a curriculum are modes of knowledge that inform living biographies and thus need further description here. Such modes are what Henry Giroux (2001) refers to as public pedagogy. Drawing from Giroux’s work, the term public pedagogy as used in this book shall refer to forms of knowledge that occur in multiple modes. Describing primarily the mode of film, Giroux (2001) calls public pedagogy “a visual technology that functions as a powerful teaching machine that intentionally tries to influence the production of meaning, subject positions, identities, and experience” (587). Further, Giroux argues that public pedagogies “are also sites of educated hopes and hyper-mediated experiences that connect the personal and the social by bridging the contradictory and overlapping relations between private discourses and public life” (588). Public pedagogies are modes of knowledge found within what Habermas (1964, 2006) refers to as the public sphere. They are “sites in which people often learn, unlearn, or simply do not get the knowledge and skills that prepare them to become critical agents, capable of not merely understanding the society and world in which they live but also being able to assume the mantle of governance” (Guilherme 2006, 171-172). Modes of public pedagogy include music, film, stage performances, activism, blogs, and visual literacies (e.g., signage), among others. An engagement with public pedagogies contributes significantly to the experience of doing a living biography. First, forms of public pedagogy are given meaning and significance through user interaction. Agents who are engaged with forms of public pedagogy work with accessible forms of knowledge occurring in a format that they select themselves; as such, these modes of knowledge allow individuals to be active participants in the political process of mediating meaning. In other words, when someone wants to learn about a public figure, one can choose the mode in which such knowledge is accessed (e.g., Internet search, video, public lecture). This participation provides individuals with a sense of agency in shaping the outcome and benefits of such participation (Freire 2008), as public

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pedagogies are given meaning through the ways in which individuals interact with them. Thus, the education that occurs through engagement with modes of public pedagogy might be considered more personally meaningful than that which one is forced to submit to in a compulsory schooling setting; the element of choice and ability to interpret meaning in an individual manner gives one a greater sense of control. Indeed, Willis (cited in Gordon 1984) states that formal schooling is a continuous locus of struggle; on the other hand, public pedagogies offer more personally and publicly negotiated opportunities for learning, in which access to knowledge is not impeded by an intermediary (Freire 1998). As such, engagement with public pedagogies positions members of a society to more freely question relationships of power in relation to cultural beliefs or practices (Sardar, Van Loon, and Appignanesi 2004), thereby potentially limiting the ability of formal modes of education to function as a form of social control—or at least interfering with this process. Second, because modes of public pedagogy can be considered as evolving, user-controlled and negotiated sources of knowledge, they are thus active sources of interaction in the process of learning generated by engagement with a living biography. In other words, modes of public pedagogy, as they are pulled together to contribute to an individual’s understanding of a life story, provide the necessary component of agency for the negotiation of meaning in a living biography to flourish. If one believes that individuals learn the most when they derive meaning by gathering their own information, then using modes of public pedagogy fulfills this need in the creation and ongoing development of a living biography. Third, forms of public pedagogy provide wider access to knowledge and thus greater opportunities for meaning negotiation, allowing a life story to be fed with a diverse pool of information. Indeed, “[t]he media offer access to settings with which the individual may never personally come into contact; but at the same time some boundaries between settings that were previously separate are now overcome” (Giddens 1991, 84). An examination of life stories relies so greatly upon public pedagogy (e.g., the persona’s disseminated music, film, blogs, activism, stage performances) that vary in form and scope and, because the generators and distributors of such texts are not necessarily limited to one geographic area or social group, the opportunities from which one can gather information are innumerable and the authors of such sources come from diverse socioeconomic, ethnic, religious, and other backgrounds. In an age where a Tweet posted by a student in Tehran can be read seconds later in places

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from New York City to São Paulo to Cape Town, and by individuals such as professors, carpenters, rickshaw drivers, and world leaders, the access to information is dizzying. In other words, anyone can produce knowledge, and any available knowledge (especially that occurring in quickly transmitted electronic formats such as Facebook posts, Tweets, and YouTube uploads) can and should be considered as a tool for the negotiation of meaning and representation in identity work. Using a widened understanding of the concept of identity is also significant to a discussion of living biographies. A new notion of identity, such as that described in Chapter One, complements the ability of one who documents a living biography by allowing for a more thorough description of the emotional experience that results from engaging with texts produced by or about the subject of inquiry. If we give weight to the sensory aspects of identity—i.e., how we perceive identity through measures which are filtered by different parts of our physical selves—it becomes possible for others to more comprehensively grasp the exchange that occurs between the person and the agent. In other words, when one negotiates meaning by interacting with texts produced by the persona, a description of the emotional and physical responses to such texts helps others to imagine how the living biography feels to the person who documented it. The disclosure of such emotional and physical response, therefore, helps to illuminate who we are as we react in different ways to texts, as our responses are biological (thus potentially common across humankind) and also social; we are conditioned to understand and experience reality in different ways depending on the rules, beliefs, mores, and structures of the culture(s) we are a part of. A final point I would like to call attention to in describing living biographies is that they are, in essence, two life stories: that of the persona, and that of the agent. Although the main focus of the living biography is intended to be on the persona, it is important to emphasize, going back to the notion of autobiographical quality in biography, that the one who documents the living biography is also very present. As such, in doing this kind of work, I cannot avoid becoming part of it. My understanding of Faudel and Adam Tensta becomes documented vis-à-vis my own experiences and knowledge of how the world operates, and this is an unavoidable feature of a living biography.

What Does an Examination of Living Biographies Offer? Examining living biographies offers us the potential to see how we as individuals are connected to all of humankind in several ways: first,

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through our ability to negotiate knowledge as it relates to us and our societies; second, through the understanding of our experiences in relation to those of others; and third, via the acknowledgement of ourselves as mediators and creators of knowledge in what one might refer to as a pop culture curriculum. C. Wright Mills (1959/2000) has emphasized the importance of being able to connect one’s own struggles to those of others in society in order to understand “the casual connections between milieux and social structure (130). Further, he states that research must examine larger structures in order to understand how people’s experiences make sense. Giddens’ (1991) literature confirms this perspective by affirming that “social circumstances are not separate from personal life, nor are they just an external environment to them” (12). Further addressing the idea of individuals being parts of a social whole, Bauman (2007) argues that “‘society’ is increasingly viewed and treated as a ‘network’ rather than a ‘structure’” (3). Although here Bauman intended to highlight the crumbling nature of the welfare state and the negative effects resulting from the shift toward personal responsibility in a free market-dominated world, I would argue that viewing society as a network can actually empower individuals to consider how they, like others, have a social responsibility to humankind; a social network in the age of globalization is not easily delineated, and one might view this with hope of strengthened ties across continents despite our many differences. Viewed as such, one can imagine the possibilities that potential social connections and reflective learning about ourselves and others (and solidarity, in turn) can bring to discussions on life stories. Henry Giroux (2010) highlights these possibilities in his autobiographical account of growing up as a working class white youth in Rhode Island. He states: Bearing witness as I have tried to do is not simply a private rendering of biographical events. It is a mode of analysis that seeks to connect private troubles to larger social issues, just as it always implicates one in the past and gives rise to reflections on how youth act and are acted upon within a myriad of public sites, cultures and institutions. Some theorists have suggested that the practices of witnessing and testimony lie at the heart of what it means to teach and to learn. Witnessing and testimony, translated here, mean speaking and listening to the stories of others as part of both an ethical response to the narratives of the past and a broader responsibility to engage the present (para. 15).

Being engaged with living biographies allows one to connect with others by understanding how both personae and agents situate themselves and are situated in society amid the convergence of knowledge/production,

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learning, and identity. As Giroux mentions, hearing and telling life stories is a central part of our education as social beings. Thus, understanding how living biographies take shape is an important part of learning about the educative processes that occur when knowledge is disseminated, interpreted, resisted, and negotiated. Although living biographies are mainly concerned with the mediation and production of knowledge between the agent and persona, this interchange of ideas, from which understandings of identity can grow, is not an experience isolated for or only beneficial to the people directly involved. Rather, individuals’ mediation of knowledge through interaction with forms of public pedagogy is part of a wider cultural interest, serving as a way for us to see how “the psyche locates itself in public discourse, visions, and passions provid[ing] the groundwork for agents to enunciate, act, and reflect on themselves and their relations to others and the wider social order” (Giroux 2004, 114). In the bluntly stated yet powerful words of Charles Lemert, (2005): “[d]o not allow yourself to be fooled into thinking that personal stories are merely personal, confined somehow to small interactions of local people” (xiv).

What Does a New Understanding of Identity Mean in a Discussion of Living Biographies? Identity is a multifaceted term describing the phenomenon that is the intersection of individuals’ agency, how one is represented or performs certain roles, and how the senses experience and make sense of reality. Identity is represented, performed (Butler 1999; Riessman 2003; LaPointe 2010), or felt (Seremetakis 1994; Kierans and Maynooth 2001) through a range of signifying practices beyond the textual. That said, how does a new understanding of identity fit into a study exploring the living biographies of two individuals? Mainly, thinking of identities in new ways supports the idea that there is no one version of the truth (Gergen 2009) when it comes to creating or telling a story about a person’s life. If we are to accept that identities are so complex and even biologically felt in a manner that is not deterministic, we must also concede the idea of a monopoly on truth—but more importantly, the possibility of ultimate or singular authority—in the telling of a life story to describe the ways that individuals have differing life experiences and understandings of those experiences. By authority, I mean the notion of a value system that gives privilege to some versions of life stories over others. Rejecting an ultimate authority in viewing a life story does not deny the fact that some versions of life stories are publicly

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viewed as more legitimate than others. However, one can recognize that society and its institutions encourage a value system while also rejecting the possibility of such a value system in seeking to know how different texts can be more meaningful to individuals depending on what meaning or knowledge the reader derives. Indeed, individuals often work to subvert or counter mainstream values through the production of texts (in various modes such as zines and blogs, for example) in order to offer alternatives spaces where broader understandings of being are expressed and encouraged. Accepting a wider possibility of legitimate representations of a life allows for the serious consideration of living biographies as legitimate representations of history, the present, and trajectories or hints toward the future. Catching a glimpse of the knowledge mediation process that occurs while doing a living biography allows the third party who becomes engaged with the living biography to begin to situate him/herself in relation to the text, the people, and the society in focus. However, accepting multiple versions of reality as truths seems to upend features of modernity, which Giddens (1991) describes as a system of power and order: “Who says modernity says not just organisations but organisation— the regularised control of social relations across indefinite time-space distances” (16). Moving away from this control and organization, both of which function to regulate how identity is felt as it is mediated through popular culture, reminds us that we are unfinished and in negotiation: negotiation with ourselves and with others.

Why Faudel and Adam Tensta? The reader may wonder why I have chosen Faudel and Adam Tensta’s life stories as objects of inquiry for this study. To begin with, I wanted to examine the life stories of individuals in countries I have some kind of relationship with. Because a discussion of living biographies relies greatly on how the author makes sense of the life of the subject, I was not particularly interested in discussing an American public figure as I am American myself. I do not believe that my Americanness makes me ineligible to discuss American public figures; rather, it is that my research interests have been directed outward, especially since my connections to France and Sweden have grown.

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Faudel and France I first became personally connected to France through my husband, a Belgian national who moved to France when he was a few months old and lived there until his late 20s. During discussions with my husband and some of his French friends, the issues of urban crime and false claims of discrimination were raised, namely in relation to cases involving French citizens of North African descent. I was wary of the idea that individuals, wherever they might be, would claim to be discriminated against if it were not the case—especially when those who raised suspicion of such claims were white males or the mainstream media. By no means did I consider myself an expert on race relations; however, in college I had read and heard enough about then new-to-me concepts such as white privilege and systematic discrimination to believe that people are not likely to allege racism or accuse white people of indifference because there is any gain in doing so. To make a long story a bit shorter, I became curious about social conflict between French people—those who were of recent immigrant descent and those who had been around long enough to not have traceable roots (i.e., français de souche). And somehow, it felt safer to explore another culture’s challenges than those of my own country. Sometime between such discussions, I received a music compilation CD as a gift. On this disc was a song by the Algerian-French singer Faudel. I had never heard of raï music before, but I enjoyed Faudel’s voice enough to search for more of his music and for other raï music by artists such as Khaled, Cheb Mami, and others. From speaking about Faudel with different people, my mental picture of him was of someone who was viewed as inoffensive yet not taken very seriously as a raï singer because he has tried to move the genre in a different direction. However, he was well enough known that whenever I mentioned his name, people young and old knew whom I was talking about. Faudel has maintained a public presence via the release of several CDs, from a dubious liaison with the then-presidential candidate Nicolas Sarkozy, and by publishing his autobiography in 2008. Apart from the genre being inherently interesting to me because the word raï itself means “opinion” (in Arabic), raï music appealed to me for what appeared to be its subversive addressing of taboo issues. Although Faudel himself was not born in Algeria, the fact that he seemed to be endorsed by the so-called King of Raï himself, Khaled, gave him credibility. This acceptance of a new raï “royalty” member, combined with the interesting idea of a potential raï superstar who was not born in the home country of the genre, provided what I viewed to be a kind of legitimacy of Faudel’s worth as an artist to study.

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In some ways, I identified with Faudel’s public struggles to satisfy the needs of his parents’ culture while being in a context where those values were not necessarily the mainstream ones. Without getting into too much detail, I will say I had a difficult time reconciling the traditional values of my upbringing with new, often conflicting information that exposed holes or gaps in the knowledge I had received or the ways in which I was taught to see the world. While I do not try to draw facile parallels between Faudel’s publicized experiences and my own private ones, I imagined that surely the identity struggles I recognized in Faudel the persona were not so unique that no one else could find some way to relate to them.

Adam Tensta and Sweden In the summer of 2009, my husband interviewed and was hired for a research position in Sweden. This forthcoming move seemed like an amazing opportunity; not only would we be closer to his family and to half of mine, but also we would have the chance to live in a country in which the social policies more closely reflected our personal beliefs. Before leaving, I thought about how this move might shape my research interests. When speaking with my doctoral committee members about possible projects I might pursue in Sweden, I mentioned that I might try to work with immigrants or children of immigrants. I had what in hindsight seems to be a naïve and ill-informed idea that I might find a job or volunteer in a school and work with immigrant children to help them appreciate the outdoors, as many Swedes do, while supporting their English language learning. Some committee members helpfully encouraged me to think about whether immigrants and children of immigrants would even want to be helped, especially in this way. Indeed, considering the logistics and hopes for what individuals want for themselves—beyond basic human rights such as food and shelter—was something that I needed to think over. Furthermore, I had no idea about the dynamics, generally speaking, between ethnic Swedes and those of foreign origin. I wasn’t aware of some of the recurring concerns raised by immigrants and other minorities, and getting a better sense of this has shifted the focus of my work. Instead of wanting to help people do something that I believed was useful, I needed to learn more about how individual people in Swedish society felt about issues such as discrimination and the realization of democratic values depending on one’s socioeconomic status and/or origin (i.e., ethnic Swede, born in Sweden to foreign parents, etc.). Sweden is often held up as a left-leaning American’s dream, and I was curious to see how the

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ideals of democracy and the welfare state stacked up against the day-today realities of Swedish life. In the first several months of our time living in Sweden, I began to notice the recurrence of themes of contested manners of representation that seemed to echo across Europe. The question of ascribed (other-given) versus chosen (self-selected) identity became salient to me, especially during the months leading up to the Swedish national elections in September 2010. Several points have helped me to see the parallels among public discourse on immigration here, the larger themes concerning immigrants and people of foreign origin living across Europe, and the concepts of identity and representation. First, speaking with several ethnic Swedes has caused me to consider that, although social policy positions the Swedish state as caring deeply about the well-being of immigrants (namely refugees), the realities of many people’s lives in Sweden—and some of the attitudes towards foreigners—trouble my ability to accept that Sweden is a welcoming democratic utopia where everyone’s voice is respected. Although income disparities are not as great here as they are in other countries, many foreigners (and those of foreign origin) in Sweden face challenges that reduce their quality of life in comparison to that of ethnic Swedes. Further, from speaking with some Swedes on topics such as the presence of foreigners here, I have learned that mainstream discourse often presents different kinds of foreigners in Sweden: good ones who visually blend in and keep quiet, and bad ones whose culture or religion are visible (what essentially amounts to speaking out in a visual manner). My experiences thus far, including the previously mentioned casual conversations, reading about the rise of the far right Sweden Democrats, and seeing conservative and xenophobic trends mirrored across Europe, especially in France, were what convinced me that it was a good moment to try to learn more about how identity is constructed, represented, and understood in Sweden. Exploring how identity is approached by Adam Tensta seemed like an interesting option, especially alongside a discussion of Faudel’s living biography. I wanted to explore the world of Swedish hip hop/rap, especially since I have long been interested in this genre as a medium supporting the expression of subversive viewpoints, and Adam Tensta’s music fits into this category. Furthermore, he is not an ethnic Swede, meaning that although he was born in Sweden, he is of recent immigrant descent; this is also the case for Faudel in France. In interviews, Tensta has openly discussed his activism and his work to combat negative perceptions of his hometown, Tensta, from which his stage name derives. Using various media, including his music, his Web

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site and blog (http://adamtensta.com/), and Facebook page (https://www. facebook.com/pages/Adam-Tensta/9063853779), Tensta has a public presence that is quickly updated and instantly reachable by those who have access to it and are interested enough to read or listen. Because he is an active producer of public pedagogy and takes public stands against negative identity associations/representations in his music and his activism, documenting a living biography of Adam Tensta seemed like a timely act, given the current political climate.

Complications of selecting Faudel and Adam Tensta As with anyone whose livelihood depends on selling records or concert tickets, one might wonder about the intentions of Faudel and Adam Tensta when it comes to their status as public pedagogues. How does one know if the career moves these artists make are solely motivated by financial gain or are acts supporting more noble causes? This is a question that I struggle with myself. I truly want to believe that Faudel and Adam Tensta are not just in it for the money, so to speak. With this in mind, a few points have convinced me that these individuals are worthy of study. First of all, let us suppose that Faudel and Adam Tensta are “legitimate” artists who are motivated to effect some kind of societal change by offering new ways of considering identity. Even if we could somehow determine whether these artists are legitimate in this sense, the question of legitimacy is a relative one with no definitive answer. Arguing that some public personae have more legitimacy than others presupposes a value system by which legitimacy is judged. A constructionist-informed perspective could argue against the notion of a value system, in the sense that such a system is not natural but rather viewed as such because of shared values that societies agree to through consensus. A widespread consensus may confirm that ideas or values are widely agreed upon, but a consensus does nothing to affirm a value or an understanding as inherently true, as multiple versions of truth exist. That said, although Faudel and Adam Tensta may possibly be motivated to achieve financial gain, their presence and public personae align with the versions of reality that many people in their respective societies hold to be true; otherwise, these individuals would not have any commercial success. They maintain a support base for many reasons, one of which is that they and/or their music confirms or fulfills the expectations or worldviews of those who support them. Further, even if these artists had ulterior motives (e.g., earning as much money as possible), this does not negate the fact that these individuals are

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still public figures who disseminate particular ideas, world views, and identities. Whether or not artists’ intentions are noble, as long as they operate within the public sphere and have some kind of audience, someone is still making meaning of their messages. As such, any messages or ideas put forth by these individuals are ones to be taken seriously. Public pedagogy, after all, is out there for the seeing, hearing, and feeling, and there is no one governing body that regulates such forms of knowledge in a way that tests the items’ legitimacy or guarantees authenticity. Knowledge that is produced, disseminated, contested, and resisted in the public sphere has power and currency as a means to inspire, disgust, motivate, inform, etc.. One might argue that even if Faudel and Tensta were just artists out to make quick money, we must especially take them seriously for the knowledge they produce. As Henry Giroux (1999) has discussed at great length, having the goal to make money is not an excuse from responsibility that is attached to the consequences that producing art entails. However innocent the intent, producing and disseminating knowledge—and having access to it—has consequences: not all of which are bad, nor good, but consequences all the same. Helping people to understand their oppression and providing them with the tools to liberate themselves (Freire 2000) is one manner through which access to knowledge is transformative and life-changing. Although having access to knowledge does not guarantee transformation or life-changing effects, these are doubtlessly strong possible outcomes.

CHAPTER THREE MON PAYS: FAUDEL AND EXPANDING THE POSSIBILITIES OF FRENCH IDENTITY

This chapter shall present a written account of my living biography of Faudel Belloua. Because a living biography is made understandable to others by way of explanation of the exchange of knowledge between the persona (Faudel) and the agent (me), I will do my best to call attention to this process of knowledge negotiation as it has occurred and as it occurs during this written documentation. First, I will sketch a portrait of who Faudel is, describing how I came to know of him and how his life works have informed my understandings of how identity is presented and contested in post-colonial France. Second, I shall draw specific examples from Faudel’s life works to demonstrate how Faudel the persona has approached identity in different ways vis-à-vis the dissemination of public pedagogies. The function of the latter section is twofold: first, it serves to call attention to some salient issues that I have discovered among Faudel’s life works, and second, it attempts to highlight the complicating aspects of identity work that arise when one finds or sees one’s own stories mirrored in public pedagogies, resulting in a living biography that is in essence the story of two: the persona and the agent. Although information about Faudel’s background and appearances in the public realm will be provided first in chronological fashion, topical references to themes that have emerged in his life works will not necessarily be presented according to their date of appearance in the public sphere. Lives are not necessarily lived linearly, in the sense that experiences (excluding certain developmental physiological stages) such as negotiating identity or considering one’s place in the world occur, or are experienced, in an orderly fashion. Rather, such work that one experiences in one’s lifetime is a process of continual revisiting and revising of themes over time as we progress through life. Furthermore, because an agent can have access to public pedagogies that are produced at different points in the persona’s life, offering or following a timeline of events in the presentation of themes does not make

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the most sense. This aspect of doing a living biography demonstrates how the agent (myself) exercises agency in approaching themes and making meaning of messages disseminated by the persona and may shed insight into the process of how individuals understand life stories in relation to their own. The chapter concludes with a brief discussion on this last point.

A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, or Who Is Faudel? Background Faudel Belloua was first thrust into the spotlight in the 1990s as the new face of raï music in France. While raï music may be generally unheard of in the United States, it is well known in the Maghreb, Europe, and the Middle East (Daoudi and Miliani 1996). Raï, which means “opinion” in Arabic, has changed considerably since its development in the early 20th century in Oran, Algeria (Daoudi and Miliani 1996; SchadePoulsen 1999), both garnering new audiences and tackling new social issues in its adoptive home of France. While comprehensive reviews of raï music and its development have been made elsewhere (see Gross, McMurray, and Swedenburg 1992; Daoudi and Miliani 1996; Langlois 1998; Schade-Poulsen 1999; Marranci 2000; DeAngelis 2003; Swedenburg 2003), one description of the genre is given by Schade-Poulsen: Raï is a popular musical style from Algeria which uses Western instruments and mixes local popular songs and rhythms with American disco, the songs of Julio Iglesias, Moroccan wedding tunes, Egyptian preludes and other sources. (1999, 5).

One can argue that this eclectic music style was officially acknowledged in 1985 in Oran, when the first raï music festival was held (Daoudi and Miliani 1996). Due to changing political circumstances, however, the future of raï in Algeria was threatened soon after the first festival; following a period of resistance to raï music and its tendency to broach topics deemed taboo according to the growing fundamentalist Islamist movement (Daoudi and Miliani 1996), raï was brought to and adapted in France during the 1980s and early 1990s by singers such as Cheb Khaled (Marranci 2000). In its early days in France, raï was hardly well known (Marranci 2000) but this soon changed, as artists exiled in France began to cultivate a rapidly growing fan base in their new country while still drawing attention from fans back home in Algeria (Daoudi and Miliani 1996).

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Faudel’s interest in raï music can certainly be linked to this growing popularity in France. Born in 1978 in Mantes-la-Jolie, a suburb of Paris, and raised by Algerian-born immigrant parents (Biography: Faudel; Chrysler 2004) in the Val Fourré neighborhood, the young Faudel was introduced to Algerian raï by his grandmother, “a professional meddahate [original italics], or a singer of traditional folk raï” (Chrysler 2004, 49); by his musician brothers; and by his parents, who “stocked the house with Raï cassettes” (Biography: Faudel). Faudel’s musical endeavors during his teenage years included the formation of his own group, Les Étoiles du Raï (Raï Stars), performances at clubs in his own suburb and others in the Paris metropolitan area, television appearances, a place competing at the famous Printemps de Bourges Festival (Belloua and Blandinières 2008; Biography: Faudel), and the release of his first CD, Baïda, in 1997. In 1998, Faudel became a household name in France and Algeria when he was invited to sing with raï superstars Khaled and Rachid Taha in the 1, 2, 3 Soleils concert in Paris (Comeau 2002; Chrysler 2004; Belloua and Blandinières 2008). In addition to the honor of singing with Khaled—the king of raï—and Taha (Belloua and Blandinières 2008), Faudel’s collaboration with them allowed him to gain “huge credibility among fellow musicians, both in France and abroad” (Chrysler 2004). The success of the 1, 2, 3 Soleils concert itself was certainly not fleeting; the live album recorded that day sold over one million copies (McNab 2000), and Faudel seemed well positioned to become the face of a new generation of raï singers. Becoming more visible in French society, Faudel went on to release the albums Samra (2001), Un Autre Soleil (2004), Mundial Corrida (2006), L’essential Faudel (2007), and more recently, Bled Memory (2010). Raï made in France by artists like Faudel is very much a product of its multicultural environment. Perhaps due to his childhood in the culturally diverse banlieues (suburbs), which are often home to immigrants and subsequent French-born generations (Peabody and Stovall 2003), Faudel was able to draw upon a multitude of musical genres beyond Algerian raï when developing his musical style. The cultural salad bowl in which Faudel was raised, which he describes as “le monde en réduction” [the world in reduction] (Belloua and Blandinières 2008, 19), could be credited as the starting point from which he was able to influence the genre. Faudel’s jump into the raï scene from a location in which diversity was appreciated (Belloua and Blandinières 2008) contributed not only to raï’s transformation but also to its chances of having a broader appeal among youths in France, many of whom had been raised in challenging (yet hopeful) environments similar to that of Faudel.

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Faudel’s Position/Positioning in a Post-Colonial Context In order to elucidate the larger frame within which Faudel’s story fits, it makes sense to step back and explore some of the socio-historical tensions that provide a context for voices and life stories coming out of France. In Faudel’s case, an important tension to consider is the ongoing trauma of post-colonial politics in modern France. An example of how such trauma is manifested includes how people of color and those with traceable origins outside of France are both expected to be French, yet not accepted as such (Keaton 2005; Echchaibi 2001). Perhaps this expected assimilation and ultimate rejection are due to a narrow popular construction of French identity (Singer November 1995); on paper, anyone can be French, given that they are willing to put a French identity first (Rosenblatt April 25, 2008)—above and at the expense of other identities such as one’s country or culture of origin (Orlando 2003). In spite of this seemingly race-neutral rhetoric, French identity and its privileges are, in practice, restricted to white individuals (Astier November 2, 2005), particularly those who identify as “français de souche,” which means being both white and of an exclusively French origin such that generations of one’s family have lived in France for so long that cultural origins outside of the country are untraceable. Regardless of the fact that people like Faudel were born in France and consider it their home, North African immigrants and their children are often denied full access to the benefits of citizenship. French citizens of North African origin are comparatively overrepresented in housing projects (Gross, McMurray, and Swedenburg 1992) which are considered by many to be locations of desperation and drug dealing (Belloua and Blandinières 2008), sometimes revealing a “near-third world deprivation” (Winter November 4, 2005, , 19th para.). Facing discrimination when seeking employment opportunities (de Jasay January 9, 2006; Astier November 2, 2005), French citizens of North African origin are sometimes treated as neo-colonial subjects who should be grateful to France for welcoming them (Gross, McMurray, and Swedenburg 1992; Ben Jelloun 1984). Thus, Faudel is caught in a melancholic struggle between his home culture, rich with the Algerian traditions of his parents (Belloua and Blandinières 2008), and French culture, in which he is able to succeed as long as he acts “French” and demonstrates an appreciation for his French citizenship. Anne Anlin Cheng (2001, 1997) offers a discussion of Freud’s concept of melancholia as it relates to the immigrant who is also a racial other. For Freud, melancholia is different from the state of mourning, in that the loss producing the latter can be relieved by giving up or letting go

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of that which is lost (Cheng 2001). However, the feeling of loss in melancholia “is pathological” in that individuals in a state of melancholia are unable to let go of their losses; further, Cheng states that “melancholia alludes not to loss per se but to the entangled relationship with loss” (2001, 8). Cheng moves Freud’s discussion of melancholy from the register of individual pathology to that of national pathology by arguing that melancholia is produced by the insistence that the immigrant who is a racial minority must give up previous identifications and fully assimilate and by the simultaneous denial that this immigrant can ever successfully assimilate. The culture of origin is produced as that which must be given up and as the only possibility of legitimate belonging, but a belonging that is forever lost because of the immigration. Racial melancholia therefore is produced in the body of immigrants and their children as a public sign of the impossibility of the immigrant ever achieving the status of full citizenship. As a post-colonial citizen living in a country whose former leaders condoned the ravaging of his ancestors’ land, Faudel might be simultaneously attached yet resistant to two distinct identities: that of his country of birth, and that of his family’s country of origin. The conflicting entanglement both with and between these two identities, and the possibility of attempts to make each of these identities his own by virtue of reinforcing a melancholic relationship with each, might be considered as the traumatic embodiment of postcolonial politics made salient through Faudel’s works. Operating between the core and the periphery of French society as a French-born citizen of Algerian descent, Faudel is an example of one of many individuals who, working as public pedagogues making sense of identity, embody postcolonial trauma. Examining not only the messages negotiated through public pedagogies of music but also public pedagogues themselves, and the contexts within which they operate, provides insight into how identity becomes constructed and negotiated within the structures of society. Further, analyzing the tensions that exist between Faudel’s agency and the society in which he works serves to “connect private troubles to larger social issues” (Giroux September 28, 2010), an essential link to consider when attempting to understand how agency and identity intersect in France. The idea of Faudel embodying trauma may seem disingenuous or even comical to those who are familiar with him as an artist. In his autobiography, Faudel acknowledges his reputation of having a friendly demeanor by stating “vous m’avez vu petit, souriant, amiable, gentil. Familier” [you’ve seen me small, smiling, friendly, nice. Familiar] (2008, 9). However, such an image is complicated by his qualifying statement

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that “Quand vous ne me voyiez plus, j’arrêtais de sourire” [When you didn’t see me anymore, I stopped smiling] (2008, 9-10). This statement suggests that the happy Faudel who many (myself included) enjoyed being entertained by was merely acting happy in public; beneath this façade, as one learns further in his autobiography, was a different story. I’m not sure why this was so surprising to me; admittedly, for a long time I didn’t question the image that Faudel put forth as it was a pleasing one telling me (and probably numerous others) what we wanted to hear— the idea that it’s possible to balance multiple identities with a big smile and seemingly no complications in negotiating the personal and political terrain of different ethnocultural spheres. Intentionally or not, Faudel has used his role as a public pedagogue to influence the way that his audience perceived him. It seems that this image has been a successful one, which is why some revelations in his autobiography—to be discussed later—came as a great shock. Or did we (me and others) hear what we wanted to hear in Faudel’s music? As I will explain later, Faudel’s embodiment of trauma makes him a ghostly tragic hero as his life story intertwines with mine in the quest for understanding identity.

Identity in Faudel’s Life Works In what follows, I will pull examples from Faudel’s music, autobiography, and public appearances in order to further share with the reader the understandings of identity that I have gained from being engaged with his public pedagogy. An analysis and discussion linking Faudel’s public pedagogies shall be woven into the examples presented here so as to elucidate the process of meaning negotiation that has occurred in my engagement with Faudel’s different texts while documenting his living biography. Detailing specific aspects of key moments in which identity struggles in Faudel’s work became salient to me is an essential aspect in the documentation of a living biography, as it allows the reader to see how the connections between life stories emerge when one does this kind of work. Further, this discussion sheds light on new understandings of identity as it is felt, performed, and understood in different ways.

Mon Pays: Faudel and Expanding the Possibilities of French Identity

Excerpt From “Mon Pays” (My Country) Je ne connais pas ce soleil I don’t know this sun Qui brûle les dunes sans fins That burns the endless dunes Je ne connais pas d’autre terre I don’t know another land Que celle qui m’a tendu la main Than the one that welcomed me Et si un jour je pars d’ici And if one day I leave here Que je traverse le désert That I cross the desert Pour aller voir d’où vient ma vie To go see where my life comes from Dans quelle rue jouait mon père In which street my father played Moi qui suis né près de Paris Me, who was born near Paris Sous tout ce vent, toute cette pluie Under all this wind, all this rain Je n’oublierai jamais mon pays I’ll never forget my country Jamais mon pays Never my country

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The song “Mon Pays”1 has been recurrent among Faudel’s public pedagogies, such as public appearances and interviews, and it is not a coincidence that this track has become more salient and frequently referenced than other songs Faudel has sung. Released in 2006 on the album Mundial Corrida, “Mon Pays” has had new life breathed into it over time as it has been used to negotiate identity on both public and personal levels. Furthermore, “Mon Pays” is a piece of public pedagogy that has been presented several times in different modes, making its potential impact on and engagement with agents much greater. It is for these reasons that I have selected this song and its iterations. To support the development of Faudel’s living biography as it occurs through my engagement with the song “Mon Pays,” I will pull examples from Faudel’s other life works when relevant to the discussion. In “Mon Pays,” Faudel positions himself as someone born in France who is unfamiliar with facets of his heritage. Saying, “I don’t know another land than the one that welcomed me,” Faudel claims to know only France as his homeland. Yet, by referring to a country that “welcomed” him, Faudel’s language suggests that he is foreign; the act of being welcomed implies that the individual being welcomed is a guest or an outsider. Similarly, Faudel also positions himself as an outsider in his autobiography, in which he mentions his “politesse du complexe” (politeness hang-up) (Belloua and Blandinières 2008, 44) when being around those who are more educated: Mon prénom a beau signifier « bienvenu » en égyptien, je sais que je ne peux pas être bien accueilli partout. Mon monde à moi, si aujourd’hui je ne sais plus trop où il est, je sais qu’il n’est pas là2. (Belloua and Blandinières 2008, 44) My first name means “welcome” in Egyptian [Arabic], I know that I can’t be welcome everywhere. My world, if today I don’t know anymore where it is, I know it’s not there.

Considered in tandem with the lyrics of “Mon Pays,” such a remark is challenging to interpret because Faudel marks himself—intentionally or unintentionally—as ingroup member (Dovidio, Gaertner, and Saguy 2009) 1

©2006 Universal Music France, Fred Asdorve Chateau, Frédéric Lebovici, Faudel “Là,” meaning “there,” in this case refers to the community of educated individuals, those in the company of which Faudel feels the need to show deference.

2

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in more than one group: that of his family’s ethnicity and that of a successful musician who rubs elbows with the French elite (Belloua and Blandinières 2008). For a singer who is viewed as an example of a successful individual who came out of the projects, transcending a reality that many individuals of Algerian descent face in the form of racism, higher unemployment, and social stigma (Astier November 2, 2005; Riots haunt Parisians a year on October 27, 2006; Belloua and Blandinières 2008; Schofield 2005; Simon 2011), Faudel’s message suggests that even though he has become successful, he is uncomfortable identifying with those who have different educational and cultural backgrounds. The final phrase of this excerpt of “Mon Pays,” “jamais mon pays” (never my country), further raises questions about Faudel’s group allegiances, in that it is unsure whether Faudel will never forget his country or whether the country will never be his. Perhaps Faudel’s positioning of himself as somewhat of an insider has a dually purposeful function depending on who might be listening to “Mon Pays.” In other words, one might argue that Faudel positions himself as an outsider in order to maintain outgroup solidarity with other children of immigrants, while calling himself a guest in his own country satisfies the expectations of those who view Frenchness in a more exclusive context (e.g., being français de souche); the latter positioning seems strategic in that it satisfies the French cultural expectation of assimilation, yet it recognizes that some individuals are allowed to be more French than are others. It is my suspicion that Faudel’s language choice here might be deliberate in its positioning of himself as an outsider, as his autobiography reveals similar challenges in juggling multiple identities. However, it stands that such a positioning allows Faudel to be an ingroup member of two groups, which may provide opportunities for more individuals to identify with him. Another challenge in interpreting the words of “Mon Pays” is that it is difficult to know where the experiences of Faudel the public pedagogue and Faudel the private individual begin and end. For example, Faudel’s language is inconsistent in that he imagines the possibility of leaving France to visit his parents’ homeland. In reality, Faudel had already visited Algeria by the time “Mon Pays” was written. One might inquire about the pedagogical choices behind this statement: For example, which listeners might such words be directed to, and for what purpose is such a statement used? If we are to believe that Faudel is directing this song to two groups of people (e.g., les français de souche and French citizens whose parents or grandparents are of North African origin), what messages might each group take away from Faudel’s dissociation of his parents’ homeland?

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One interpretation of this message might be that it is acceptable to acknowledge one’s ancestry but, ultimately, one must make sacrifices in order to be French. On the other hand, perhaps authorial intent is a moot point, as Faudel admits that “Mon Pays” was written by “une super équipe d’auteurs” (a great team of writers) (Belloua and Blandinières 2008, 150) who were inspired by discussions with Faudel about his two cultures. However, whether or not Faudel is the author, the fact remains that he is the public face of the song. With regard to authorial intent and the intended messages of Faudel as a public pedagogue, Faudel admits he has not always been conscious of the power of his music to transmit particular messages or worldviews. In an interview that occurred a few years after the release of “Mon Pays,” Faudel stated that in the beginning of his career as a singer, he thought he was just singing, but he realized later that he had some messages to say (Intravaia 2008). Although the album Bled Memory which has been released since this confession is a cover album of raï songs written by different singers and thus does not include lyrics that Faudel himself had a hand in creating/influencing, it is still worth questioning how Faudel might have used the affordances of music to transmit messages in ways other than verbal. For one, although the original lyrics of the songs on the album Bled Memory were used, not all of the songs were reinterpreted musically in a manner completely faithful to the originals. The reasoning behind the decision to reinterpret famous raï songs in a new manner had at least one distinct purpose, namely that Faudel could feel more honest about putting his name on the songs, which belong to the public domain (Faudel en interview 2010) and are of uncertain authorial origin in the Maghreb. Given this artistic decision, did Faudel manipulate the songs in such a way as to render them different for a purpose other than the seemingly simple reason of not wanting to steal from the public domain? I would argue yes, with the goal of attempting to realign himself with those of his community who may have felt betrayed by Faudel’s support of Sarkozy. In his biography on Facebook (see Belloua 2011), a description of the album Bled Memory includes a description of the adaptation of the raï songs used, including a mention of the use of famed musicians associated either with raï music and/or with immigrant areas (e.g., l’Orchestre National de Barbès, a group whose name was inspired by that of a predominantly African neighborhood of Paris). At the same time, the biographical section on Facebook refers to Faudel’s motivation behind the creation of Bled Memory, describing an “envie réelle de renouer avec les racines tout en restant fidèle à sa patrie de naissance et accueil” (real

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desire to reconnect with his roots while remaining faithful to his country of birth and welcome) (Belloua 2011). Such a statement may be interpreted as Faudel’s attempt to navigate the multiple facets (e.g., different ingroups referred to later in this chapter) of his identity, both appeasing those from his home community whom he may have alienated, while at the same time functioning to reassure those French de souche (and others unfamiliar with raï music) for whom he has said to have created the album Bled Memory (BourgogneLive 2010). The journey of Faudel’s pedagogical dissemination of “Mon Pays” has transcended the world of music and entered different and ultimately damaging realms such as that of the overtly political: a further complicating issue of “Mon Pays” is how Faudel has used this song in the public sphere in blatantly politicized settings. In 2007, Faudel appeared in public with the then-presidential candidate Nicolas Sarkozy at events related to Sarkozy’s presidential campaign. Sarkozy had promised to open a debate on the meaning of French identity, giving Faudel and others hope that changes might be made to improve conditions for France’s minorities. While I have been unable to ascertain with certainty the total number of occasions on which Faudel appeared with Sarkozy, I can confirm with video evidence at least two instances in which Faudel sang an a cappella excerpt of “Mon Pays” at the side of the former president of France; one was at a rally at the arena in Bercy (Paris), and the second occurred at a rally at the Zénith in Paris. These two appearances, both of which took place in 2007 before the presidential election, can be found online (see Bercy: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zPmsF14qxGY; and Zénith: http:// www.dailymotion.com/video/x1hmmx_faudel-et-nicolas-sarkozyau-zenith_news). The Zénith video is documented by Sarkozy’s publicity team (referred to as NSTV) and, perhaps as a result, feels particularly disturbing mainly because of the dramatic background music, fanatically cheering crowd, and flashing cameras that seem to endow Sarkozy with an almost godlike or celebrity status. The fact that Faudel, with his youthful and innocentlooking face, appears there, supporting the sharp featured and harsh speaking Sarkozy, seems to set up a strange power dynamic in which Faudel is deferential to Sarkozy almost as a child defers to an adult. This imbalance of power is established early in the video, highlighted by the way in which Faudel is either positioned physically behind Sarkozy or shown from behind and is thus faceless. A further attempt to infantilize Faudel occurs around one minute and eight seconds into the video, when Faudel is seen clapping in the crowd and then looking over his shoulder, almost as if to check to see if he has been caught doing something wrong.

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After giving a short speech of support, Faudel begins to sing “Mon Pays,” and Sarkozy is filmed clapping along with the crowd, looking at Faudel as if he were a proud father. Even more interesting is how Faudel uses the familiar tu with Sarkozy instead of the more formal vous, suggesting a close relationship. Ultimately, despite these public appearances of support, Faudel has admitted in an interview that he felt he had been deceived by Sarkozy’s promises, saying: Le discours sur la diversité me séduisait. On était en plein débat sur la discrimination au travail, les CV anonymes. Il y avait des gens de couleur au gouvernement, comme Rachida Dati et Rama Yade … Mais après, tu compares les discours et les actes … Et là, j'ai l'impression que l’on m’avait pris pour un bon client, symbole de réussite, issu de l'immigration d'un quartier populaire. J’étais l’arabe de service. The discourse on diversity seduced me. We were in the middle of a debate on workplace discrimination, anonymous CVs. There were people of color in the government, like Rachida Dati and Rama Yade … But then, you compare the discourse and the action … And then, I have the impression that they took me for a good client, symbol of success, of immigrant origin from a working-class neighborhood. I was the token Arab. (Avec Sarkozy, j'ai cru au Père Noël [With Sarkozy, I believed in Santa Claus] 2010)

Such a statement raises several questions, one of which is whether Faudel publicly attempted to regain the lost respect of his fans by claiming he was deceived by Sarkozy. I would argue that Faudel was honest in making this statement, because by the time this interview was conducted he had already released his tell-all autobiography, a book in which he exposed numerous extremely private events such as his depression, suicide attempts, separation from his wife, and reasons behind the tension between himself and his family. In other words, Faudel had already exposed himself in an intimate manner, a manner uncharacteristic of French cultural norms. Furthermore, Faudel’s rebuke came about two years after his initial support of Sarkozy, which seems to indicate that he waited to see how Sarkozy would act as president of France instead of responding immediately to his fans’ criticism. Admittedly, my interpretation of how Faudel’s identity has been approached vis-à-vis “Mon Pays” is heavily based upon my own experience of juggling my home culture with a larger, and often ambiguous, idea of American culture. Listening to “Mon Pays” haunts me. My first and subsequent reactions upon hearing “Mon Pays” were and are still emotionally charged. The first time I heard the song was in the fall of 2006 while sitting in my apartment in State College, Pennsylvania, USA. A rookie in the department where I

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was to complete my PhD studies, I was frequently full of energy that did not always have a satisfactory outlet. Often I found my mind racing on what seemed like a loopy indoor track as I read new texts, trying to understand theory that made me feel stupid and caused me to question how I would ever complete my doctoral studies. One way I attenuated the stress of my assignments was to blast energetic music in the background while I was reading. Also, my husband and I had joined the local YMCA to kill time in our new surroundings where we initially had no friends, and the attempts to return myself to a more physically active state were always encouraged by the voices of singers who I often listened to on repeat as I sweated my way through cardio and strength training circuits. The playing of “Mon Pays” started in my home and continued during these gym sessions. The upbeat yet nervewracking tempo, minor key, and haunting echoing background voices singing the word trop (too much) in the song’s refrain both fueled and frightened me, yet, as if were an addictive substance, I kept going back to the song to relive this stressful yet somehow exhilarating feeling. “Mon Pays” (and Faudel, in turn) seemed to promise me a reassurance that could never be delivered. What was the reassurance? Well, partially it was what one might think of as the surface meaning of the song’s lyrics. If one listens to the words, one might initially believe that the song is a nationalistic display of pride in Faudel’s homeland, despite his overseas roots. Faudel seems to be telling his audience that it doesn’t matter if his family came from Algeria or not; what counts is that it is ici, here, where he was born, and that France is his country. But why the need to be possessive and emphasize that France is his? What is Faudel trying to prove, and to whom? Did someone accuse him of not being French enough? If Faudel’s Frenchness is not being called into question, then why does he insist on declaring it in such an open and emphatic manner? More relevantly, in the case of me as an agent documenting a living biography of Faudel, why did/does this song make me feel so anxious? Zygmunt Bauman (2011) believes that the anxiety concomitant with identity-related soul searching is due to “[t]hat in-built ‘non-finality’, the incurable inconclusiveness of the task of selfidentification” (431). From my American perspective, it’s normal to see people being proud of where they are from; I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard the expression “proud to be American.” So, Faudel being proud to be French comes as no surprise … not at first, anyway. A closer look at the lyrics, as provided earlier in this chapter, reveals complicated messages and bizarre emotional responses that now seem to make more sense, when considered

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along with the key in which the song is sung, the echoing voices in the refrain, and the jittery background instruments. Listening to this song nearly five years later, I still feel and biologically respond as if I were anxious. Why? I think that it’s those eerie echoing voices that complicate Faudel’s seemingly benign message and the fact that this song was used in connection with Nicolas Sarkozy’s presidential campaign—a campaign that promised yet did not deliver substantive change for individuals like Faudel. Or maybe it’s my own disjointed sense of self—where am I from? What is the reassurance that I need that Faudel can’t deliver for me in this song? Perhaps I unwittingly expected that Faudel could be an imaginary ally in child-of-immigrant solidarity—a public figure who represents and fights my own ambivalence and internal struggle about my origins. I often cringe at the idea of being American, even though that’s what I am—at least on paper. The at-times negative association with my American identity comes from years of seeing images of jingoistic flag waving, war mongering, and of witnessing an almost proud ignorance of what is happening in the rest of the world, at times when I have found myself doing everything I could to learn about and visit other places. (Although Faudel does not mention any shame associated with his French identity, his insistence that France is his country suggests an insecurity or discomfort in what this identity may mean.) I’m not Italian, like my father and my mother’s parents—or at least not yet. (Paperwork to get Italian citizenship through my father is being prepared—a long process that, perhaps because it was not completed earlier in my lifetime, seems to drag on endlessly, further reinforcing my distance from Italy.) Even if I do “activate” my Italian citizenship, I’ve never lived there, and I reject so many things about Italian society; I can’t see myself fitting in there either. I guess I had hoped to find in Faudel some kind of sign that it’s possible to conquer internal battles over competing identities. Even though on an academic and personal level I recognize how identities often compete and intersect with each other, I have always hoped and searched for identity stability—knowing that I am ______ [fill in the nationality blank], period, no questions, no ambiguity. I’ve wanted certainty—an identity that could not be contested by anyone else. Upon hearing that I was American, foreigners I met in the US repeatedly asked me where I was really from. Abroad in Brazil, I lost my white “status” and was given different ones, colors of coffee with milk or different shades of brown, and people asked me where my family came from. In France, being simply “American” never satisfies those who ask me where I’m from. For some reason, my origins seem important to others: an interest

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that has admittedly fed into my own anxieties of being a legitimate citizen of a particular state. Even if one is certain about who one is, the continual questions coming from the outside plant doubts on the inside, leading to a feeling of defensiveness that reminds me of Faudel trying to prove to others that he’s French enough. I never wanted to juggle different selves, and I never wanted to think this much about the irresolution to identity questions. The fact that I am even thinking of my identity so deeply feels quite indulgent in a way that betrays my origins. My parents and their parents are and were either too busy working or too tired from working to get into such debates. Even if I feel I could never win the internal identity struggle, I had hoped that I could win it symbolically through Faudel’s example or, at least, be inspired to let the issue go. In this sense, Faudel ultimately seemed to be an apparition—a fleeting tragic hero through whom I was ultimately unable to resolve my own struggles. Indeed, my physiological responses to the song, including increased heart rate, nervous sweating, and anxiety tell me that I have much left to do to resolve this conflict. Identity, like the ocean and sea waters that have been such an important part of my own life and my family’s, is fluid and constantly in motion. Identity, like the water, betrays us—whether by pushing us along gently in naïve assurance of our safety in floating, by sucking us down into a swirl of confusion, or by making us feel sick with the constant back and forth motion involved in having to defend who we are. Through the example of “Mon Pays,” Faudel has unwittingly led me on an identity journey mediated through examples of his own identity negotiation, including the public examples in which he has failed himself at the expense of his mental health, his fans, or his family. Such examples remind me of my own identity failures, including those in which I did a good job trying on different nationalities in a search for one I could call my own—a search which my former professor and academic advisor, Dr. Donaldo Macedo, pointed out to me occurred as a result of the loss of my home culture at the expense of becoming American. Because I had lost my own heritage culture, I set out on a journey to try to find a culture that would allow me to pass as a member. Attempts to recover the lost culture were unsuccessful for a variety of reasons, mainly due to a lack of support in the form of language, location, and dedicated elders who could apprentice me into the culture of our ancestors. Furthermore, after a certain amount of time, I ultimately realized that I could never be something else, even though I was not entirely sure where I fit in to begin with. Like how Brubaker (1992) defines citizenship in terms of exclusion, I too know that I am not something else, although, in my case, the

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parameters of where my identity begins and ends are less clear than those of citizenship of a particular country. On the subject of language, Faudel’s singing in both French and Arabic is worthy of note. By engaging with the following song, I will continue my living biography by examining Faudel’s identity exploration through the dimension of another language.

Excerpt From “Samra” (Brunette/Tanned) yana ellila ouahdi sahrane I am staying awake alone tonight hbibti majatche My love did not show up yana aliha qalbi zaafane My heart is upset because of her l'dari majatche To my house, she did not come h'bibti yana samrat elloune My love has black eyes n'dirou l'amour fi telephone We make love on the phone de son amour ana meskoune I am haunted by her love zina ou samra ou kahlet laayoune Beautiful and tan, with black eyes achaqt fiha zinha arbi I enjoy her Arab beauty sobhane allah ma khlaq rabbi God almighty and what he creates!

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In “Samra”3, Faudel’s Arabic language lyrics express both joy and sadness associated with loving a woman—a woman whom he identifies as Arab. (How this woman identifies herself, however, is not clear in the song; further, it is not stated whether the woman Faudel sings about is a French Arab or an Arab woman living in an Arab country.) Interjecting his belief in god to have created such a woman, Faudel connects the personal emotions associated with love to his religious beliefs, the latter of which are also referred to in his autobiography (see Belloua and Blandinières 2008). Interestingly, Faudel’s identity explorations occur mostly in French language songs (see also: “Nos racines;” “Entre elle et moi;” “Un sourire de silence;” “Enfants de la mer”) while the more intimate topics of romance with Arab women and Faudel’s connection to his religious beliefs are frequently discussed in Arabic (see also: “Baïda;” “Hanina;” “Tellement nbrik;” “Aveuglé par amour”4). If Faudel is as French as he claims to be, why does he discuss intimate topics such as love and religious affiliation mostly in Arabic? Does French identity depend on one’s choice of language when discussing certain topics, or is it that Faudel’s skill as a public pedagogue allows him to make the choice of which language to use for particular topics? One possible interpretation is that Faudel might be making strategic decisions about what information he shares and with whom. While it is acceptable (and perhaps expected) for Faudel—a racial “other”—to show allegiance to France by associating it with his public persona, decisions about how to negotiate the private self might be managed in such a manner as to maintain ingroup status with other French citizens of Algerian origin or with Algerians themselves. Specifically, the decision (intentional or not) to keep love, religion, and an appreciation of “Arab beauty” close to home figuratively and linguistically could function as a protective measure through which Faudel is able to preserve connections to his heritage culture. Edward Said (1978), in discussing the “exclusively male province” (207) of Orientalism, states that Oriental women are conceived of as “the creatures of a male powerfantasy. They express unlimited sensuality, they are more or less stupid, and above all they are willing” (207). This depiction is as true today as it was when Said first wrote it. In France, women of North African descent 3

© 2001 Mercury France and Faudel. Arabic translation by Chafik Abdellaoui. Although the title “Aveuglé par amour” is in French, the song, with the exception of this phrase, is in Arabic.

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are often depicted as objects of sexual desire; a simple Google search of the word “beurette5” yields over 10 million hits, many of which are pornographic fetish sites that refer to such women as salopes (whores). Perhaps Faudel sings about Arab beauty in the Arabic language to avoid contributing to the fetishization of women of North African descent. Regarding the references to god occurring in the Arabic language, one might posit a similar explanation to protect something else commonly maligned in France (Silverstein 2005; Hargreaves 2006): Faudel’s religion, Islam. To help consider possible understandings for the preference of one language over another depending on the topic, I turn to a study of emotional responses to language among bilingual individuals. Harris, Gleason, and Ayçiçe÷i (2006) have stated that some groups of bilinguals are likely to have a stronger emotional response to certain kinds of words in their in their first language6. The authors suggest that for certain categories of words, “a second language is less emotionally evocative than a first” (266). That said, examining these points in relation to Faudel’s language choices, one might consider a few plausible interpretations. First, if we suppose that individuals might respond more favorably to positive words and phrases in their first language, then it might make sense for Faudel to sing about topics such as love and religion in Arabic, the language of his parents and extended family. While I am not certain about which language Faudel considers to be his stronger one, in his autobiography he mentions learning Arabic from his father (Belloua & Blandinières, 2008). Because Faudel learned Arabic at an early age and has positive memories associated with the times in which he learned and used it (Belloua and Blandinières 2008), it is reasonable to guess that he might react more strongly to emotionally charged words in this language. Although Faudel also learned French at an early age by virtue of living in France and attending school there, it is not certain that the same 5

A feminized form of the word “beur,” a verlan (backslang) of the French word “Arabe,” describing young men in France of North African origin. While many scholars use the term “beur” to describe individuals like Faudel and it is used in French popular culture, I avoid it because some individuals in France from the African diaspora have expressed to me their discomfort over the use of this word, namely when it is used by white people. 6 The authors define a first language as “the chronologically first acquired language, even if it is not the language the individual currently knows best or uses most frequently” (Harris, Gleason, and Ayçiçe÷i 2006, 261)

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emotional and familial connections would occur with the French language; after all, French is the language used by the colonizers who usurped Faudel’s culture of origin and contributed to the reasons why Faudel’s parents left their homeland to begin with (Belloua and Blandinières 2008). The uneasiness related to the French language may be why Faudel refers to himself as a guest in “Mon Pays;” not only might some people define him, the child of immigrants, as a guest, but also he might have internalized his otherness to an extent that it affects his linguistic decisionmaking. Frantz Fanon (1991) stated, “A man who possesses a language possesses as an indirect consequence the world expressed and implied by this language” (2). The discontinuous experience between home and school languages and cultures was reinforced by teachers’ lack of interest in Faudel and his subsequent viewing of school as a place where he “ne pouvai[t] pas réaliser aucun de [s]es rêves” (couldn’t realize any of [his] dreams) (Belloua and Blandinières 2008, 81), and he dropped out of school in the seventh grade. Interestingly, in his autobiography, Faudel raises the issue of language in reference to his music, specifically regarding the album Mundial Corrida (2006). While Faudel does not address his choice of language in all of the albums he had released by the time he wrote his autobiography, he calls particular attention to Mundial Corrida due to the controversy surrounding his appearance singing “Mon Pays” in public with Nicolas Sarkozy. He states: Je chante en français sur cet album encore parce que c’est ma langue. Je parle couramment l’arabe mais je m’exprime la majorité du temps en français. (Belloua and Blandinières 2008, 150) I sing in French on this album because it’s my language. I speak Arabic fluently but I express myself most of the time in French.

While I do not believe that Faudel should be denied the right to claim French as his language, he admits in a recent interview that he is now at ease with his two cultures, implying that perhaps he was previously not comfortable negotiating two identities (BourgogneLive 2010). This ambiguity suggests an ongoing tension with the negotiation of multiple identities.

Faudel as Public Pedagogue: or, Persona Versus Agent Versus Persona… Given possible ideas why Faudel might use Arabic and French in specific contexts, what can be said about his role as a public pedagogue

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disseminating materials from which others like me write living biographies? Is Faudel a successful singer because he is able to meet the needs of audience members from different backgrounds? To begin with, Faudel seems to be able to strike somewhat of a balance in accommodating what might be the concerns, interests, and hopes of his potential audience members. If individuals who also find themselves navigating between more than one culture listen to Faudel’s music, perhaps they might be inspired to approach an understanding of identity on their own terms. That is, by managing his identity on his own terms forged from within an interstitial passage referred to by Bhabha (2004), Faudel might be working as a pedagogue of hope by demonstrating new possibilities of viewing identity within a culture that does not prize ethnic diversity—after all, the French government’s modus operandi has been to pretend that race and ethnicity do not exist and that such personal information should be restricted to the “private sphere” (Benson and Saguy 2005, 234). Racial melancholia, as Cheng defines it, succeeds only insofar as full identification as “French” is regarded as being both the unproblematic and the only path to success and happiness. Faudel has certainly troubled this limited and limiting notion of cultural dis/unity in postcolonial France by addressing identity on his own terms and not on those of La République. Bringing the issue of alternative identities and self-created identities to the forefront can open discussions on how individuals’ histories have been erased in the name of French “égalité.” Faudel mentions that his entry into the public sphere was made possible by the famous singer Khaled, who paved the way for other French people of Algerian origin to be seen as more than just the subject of problematic news updates in the papers (Belloua and Blandinières 2008). Rather than operating from a position of historical erasure due to negative popular perceptions of his identity, Faudel, like other bicultural children of immigrants, is able to exercise agency in pedagogical decisions about how to represent himself. Although such representational work is always complex, the fact that Faudel can choose how to represent himself through the medium of music signifies a new direction in the current generation of young men and women born to parents of foreign origin. Furthermore, agents are also empowered by virtue of using their own cultural capital to make sense of or to challenge the image that Faudel puts forth, emphasizing the multiplicity of ways to understand identity that are at the disposal of those engaged in living biography work. Working as a public pedagogue, Faudel, like American President Barack Obama, is able to operate from a position where multiple groups of people find ways to learn from, resist, embrace, or reject his messages .

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depending on the audience members’ own desires and expectations. However, by his attempting to appeal to multiple audiences, how is Faudel’s status as a public pedagogue affected? As mentioned earlier, Faudel got into trouble with some of his fans because he decided to appear in public with his friend and then-presidential candidate Nicolas Sarkozy (Belloua and Blandinières 2008). Referring to his music and the films he had appeared in, Faudel acknowledges that he had come to represent “un idéal” (an ideal) (146): a symbol of integration, North African success, etc. (Belloua and Blandinières 2008). Yet, Faudel also expresses a frustration that this image was how people connected him to Sarkozy, rather than the image of someone who happened to be Algerian-French supporting a friend. Why did many people in France view Faudel as a role model, as a symbol of success? Does Faudel represent for others the possibility of success—might he be the French version of a fulfilled American dream, for better or for worse? By this I mean the American dream of working hard enough and achieving success, moving up in society in spite of the loss that is involved in this transition. One has to make sacrifices to achieve the American dream—some salient sacrifices I can think of are losing one’s heritage culture and language (or at least marginalizing them to the extent that they are not hindrances to achieving the dream) and embracing a capitalist model of moving up and up in society (Lemert 2005). Yes, Faudel has achieved the American dream, a dream which might better be renamed the capitalist/neoliberal winner-takes-all-in-aglobalized-society dream. The extent to which the aforementioned losses are felt or acknowledged is of course debatable. One might say that in the life of a bicultural individual, it’s the culture of yesterday that loses—the culture of yesterday being traditional societies as they were known in a time before Coca Cola was sold in most supermarkets worldwide and before national economic disasters could have ravaging effects on those outside a nation’s borders—before people had to leave their home countries to find jobs that could provide for their families (Lemert 2005). The effects of achieving this dream are fleeting, as Bauman (2008) has stated—contentment in the fulfillment of today’s market-driven needs and dreams is an illusion and when we realize we have either too much and are wasteful or not enough and are envious, it is easy to turn to the past and want to cling to some certainty. Is this why I want to know something for sure—who I am and what I can call myself? Is it to have some kind of fixed attachment, an anchor of sorts, so as to feel rooted and comforted in at least that fact when other things may be uncertain? Is it even possible to say, as a citizen of the United States, that I’m really American anyway

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when people ask? Don’t all Americans besides American Indians come from somewhere else? In any case, what does it even mean—or what purpose does it serve—to know (or think I know) with certainty who I am? Regardless of whether or not one “knows” one’s identity, there is always the external battle of identity with which one must grapple. And often, knowing who we are involves a clear delineation of who we are not, or who is not a part of the same group we belong to (Brubaker 1992). While my own identity search seems so unclear to me, one might argue that the very way in which I am able to have this conflict at all is a result of the way in which Italians, among other immigrant groups in the 20th century, became white as time went by. Becoming white, which entails gaining the privileges associated with being white in the United States, does not mean that all previous ties are automatically severed. In fact, because of the still strong connection between my family and Italy, it is hard to say that there is no influence of the cultures (Sicilian, Neapolitan, Italian) from across the Atlantic in my idea of being American. Perhaps this is why it is so difficult to accept the American identity so fully, even though hyphenated identities are not exactly shocking in the US. I would even suggest that the idea of having difficulty merging the old and the new is a new version of an old struggle to blend in—in other words, an unfinished intergenerational struggle that resurfaces in an attempt to relive the past in order to understand the present. In some ways, this struggle has parallels to Faudel’s melancholia, which may be why he became a tragic hero to me. The notion of early 20th century immigrants making sacrifices to assimilate and be American is a recurrent trope that sustains frequently referenced arguments used to justify racist attitudes. That is, the speakEnglish-or-go-home idea that earlier immigrants all miraculously learned English and found employment and housing without social programs such as Medicaid, the Housing Act of 1937, the Food Stamp Program, and others that exist today and are allegedly taken advantage of by too many immigrants and black and brown individuals. Rather, those who claim to be proud Americans—yet have recent immigrant roots and rebuke new immigrants—often state that hard work is what too many people aren’t doing today, and the failed American dream of many today is a result of individuals’ own ineptitude. I wonder if the outrage about current immigration in the United States is indeed the misdirected grief over the loss of one’s heritage language and culture. Or, perhaps it is a reliving of the trauma of ancestors who were subject to discrimination.

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From France/Algeria to the US/Italy and Back Again: Doing Living Biography Noting how my own biographical journey surfaces while documenting Faudel’s living biography yields interesting insight into the process of what it means to do living biography. First, showing how my own story connects to Faudel’s in different ways sheds light on how life stories do not exist in a vacuum; rather, the ways in which complete strangers’ life experiences intersect and give meaning to each other is a powerful reminder of how we are all part of a web of related experiences (Lemert 2005; Mills 1959/2000). Additionally, doing a living biography of Faudel calls attention to the ways in which personae and agents edit themselves in the public sphere (Bauman 2008). In particular, Faudel’s sometimes contradictory statements related to his identity provide a glimpse into the meaning negotiation and self-editing processes that occur when identity is engaged with publicly, both by the personae themselves and by agents. In this way, both persona and agent have the opportunity to exercise their agency in an ongoing dialectic relationship that results in new understandings of identity. Because living biographies involve a process of revision and reexamination in selecting different modes of public pedagogy from which to create a life story, no two living biographies are the same. Furthermore, precisely because the resources from which one draws understandings of identity can be revisited, there is no way to guarantee that a living biography involving the same persona and agent will be reproduced in a similar fashion if it is documented at different moments in time. This fact calls attention to the notion that knowledge put forth, and meaning made or resisted, is not static but rather ongoing and dynamic; one might argue that this is due to the fact that since identity itself is not static, neither are the ways in which we find common ground with others through the sharing of life experiences. It is my hope that having documented Faudel’s living biography here demonstrates to the reader how important the agent’s own life story is in the telling of another’s life story, thus causing one to begin to think about the larger social forces that create the conditions in which people who seemingly have nothing to do with each other can share common experiences (Lemert 2005; Bauman 2011). In other words, in setting out to tell Faudel’s experiences of negotiating his identity, I was obliged to situate myself in relation to his experiences in order to emphasize why Faudel’s particular experiences were so important in my living biography of him.

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Rather than pretending to operate from a position of neutrality, calling explicit attention to the ways in which my own life story has influenced my retelling of Faudel’s experiences highlights what can be viewed as a juxtaposition of humbleness against an empowering sense of agency. The agency I gain in telling Faudel’s story vis-à-vis my own must be problematized, and in this sense doing this living biography is necessarily humbling. As a privileged white American (regardless of my origins), I have a responsibility to call attention to how my own perspective influences my ideas and research, as not doing so in my attempt to understand Faudel’s identity struggles would be a new version of old methods in which privileged researchers set whiteness as the baseline experience of humanity against which all others’ experiences are measured. Instead of adopting such a stance as a culturally- and raciallyinvisible scholar—or what I consider a neo-colonial approach of describing the experiences of a minority individual from an attempted position of neutrality that masks my white privilege—I implicate myself in this documentation of Faudel’s living biography in lieu of pretending that each of our experiences stand in isolation of those of the other. The agency gained in the process of documenting a living biography is not one-sided, however. Faudel has used his own agency to revise and clarify his identity in the public sphere. Hence, living biography, as process of meaning negotiation back and forth between persona and agent, takes shape through a continued process of knowledge production and revision as it occurs through time. This is consistent with Bauman’s (2011) idea of how “‘identities’ exist today solely in the process of continuous renegotiation” (431).

CHAPTER FOUR OVERLOAD: ADAM TENSTA AND BRIDGING SWEDISH PHYSICAL AND IDEOLOGICAL DIVIDES

This chapter will be organized into several parts detailing my living biography of Adam Tensta. First, I will provide a portrait of Tensta, describing how I came to know of him, information about his home environment, and the phenomenon of outsider identity in Sweden. Second, I will briefly explain how certain circumstances in Swedish society have provided a fertile ground for the growth of hip hop music and how those conditions pose a challenge to the idea of Sweden being as progressive as commonly believed. Third, I shall draw specific examples from Tensta’s life works to demonstrate how Tensta, the persona, has approached identity in different ways via the dissemination of public pedagogies. Fourth, I will situate myself as an agent living in Sweden in order to explain how I have drawn examples from Tensta’s life works. Finally, I will explain how the work done in this chapter has larger implications for doing living biographies.

Who Is Adam Tensta? Who is Adam Tensta? This is a question I’d like to ask him myself, yet thus far I have been unable to secure an interview with him. In Sweden, a country where people are generally more reserved than people in the United States (Daun 1996), I wondered how a search into the personal life and private identity struggles of a pop culture figure might develop. Even though celebrities exist in Sweden, their day-to-day personal lives are not as extensively and ubiquitously probed as they are in the US (Hessler and Freerks 1995). Although celebrity magazines exist, people here generally seem to prefer to let each other be and live in peace—with the exception of the Swedish royal family, whose intimate private lives appear to be of greater interest (if one is to judge by the sheer amount of multimodal media attention they receive). Because information about Swedish public

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figures’ private lives may not be as accessible as I have come to expect in the US given the proliferation of celebrity culture artifacts and media attention given to celebrities there, I have had to rely even more on my own cultural capital to make meaning from what life works Adam Tensta has made available. By cultural capital, I mean the idea of embodied knowledge gained by individuals dependent upon how they are socially, economically, and culturally situated in a society (Bourdieu 1986). Used in this sense, it is important to reflect upon the impact that one’s cultural capital has and has had on the ways in which we make sense of the world—a process that is important to acknowledge when documenting a living biography. Part of the work involved in doing living biographies requires the agent to share or disclose personal insight and make sense of knowledge disseminated by personae, so filling in gaps based on my own ideas and observations while highlighting the contexts through which such ideas have taken shape is an important step in this kind of life storymaking. Instead of receiving information about him via more conventional media (e.g., television, magazines), the way I learned about Adam Tensta was through an Internet search for names of Swedish rappers. I was curious to learn more about how hip hop has developed in Sweden, especially since hip hop has been appropriated and developed as a genre in off-shoots in many countries around the world (Huq 2006; Mitchell 2001; Dimitriadis 2009) as a means to resist, reframe, or critique social realities. Because Sweden is not a country dealing firsthand with the fallout of colonialism, much like England or France, I wondered what other large scale systems or situations of oppression might inspire individuals to use hip hop as a medium for resisting oppression or forms of social marginalization. Sure enough, a few names came up in my Google search. One individual whose name popped up more frequently than others was Adam Tensta. Tensta, born in Sweden as Adam Momodou Eriksson Taal to a Swedish-Finnish mother and Gambian father (Vem är Adam Tensta? , n.d.), and whose stage surname is taken from the eponymous Stockholm suburb in which he grew up (Hedström n.d.), has not been a widely-known public figure for as long as Faudel has. It also seems that Tensta, perhaps because he is not signed exclusively to a major record label, has a different kind (i.e., Internet-based) of public recognition than Faudel, if one were to judge by album sales or career length, for example. (One could argue that the idea of measuring artist recognition in the Internet era is difficult, as media are posted, shared, mashed up, parodied, developed offline, and reposted, etc., thus producing an untraceable stream of reproductions

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which prove difficult to quantify.) Despite keeping a lower profile by virtue of having a younger career situated largely outside of dominant market-controlled distribution channels, Tensta has taken steps to ensure that his name brings positive associations in the news with regard to his neighborhood. In fact, Tensta’s stage name was chosen deliberately in order to bring positive attention to the district of Tensta, which his manager states often receives bad press (Hedström n.d.). Initially, I had a difficult time imagining what kinds of circumstances could be conducive to producing hip hop music, a genre with its origins in social dissent and action (Chang 2005), in a country like Sweden. But just as oppressive circumstances provided a motivating factor for the creation of hip hop’s alternative communities of practice (Wenger 1998) in which empowerment and local relationships were paramount, so too have similar conditions in Sweden placed some individuals outside of society (in both the physical and metaphorical senses) and given rise to hip hop culture as a means of addressing social injustice (Sernhede 2011). As I Googled Tensta’s song lyrics and watched his YouTube videos, I became quite intrigued. Here was a young man of Gambian, Swedish, and Finnish origin who had grown up in a predominantly immigrant Swedish suburb and who dropped the N-word1 liberally in his music. (Use of the N-word in nonAmerican contexts simultaneously disturbs and fascinates me, as I wonder how/if people who grow up outside the United States can grasp the cultural associations of oppression, power, shame, and social inequality that accompany the term2 (see Asim 2007; and Kennedy 2002, for an exploration of the complicated history surrounding the N-word). (Not that there is one way in which this term holds meaning within the United States; clearly its multitude of uses inside the US as well attests to this semantic diversity.) I was surprised that Tensta sounded credible to me as a hip hop artist, given that he performs in English (i.e., not his mother tongue) and lives in 1

I recognize that some readers might not know what word I am referring to with the euphemistic phrase “the N-word.” However, my desire to avoid using the offensive word that the N-word refers to is greater than my desire to be 100 percent certain that readers understand which word I refer to. I would encourage confused readers to do an Internet search of the phrase “the N-word.” 2 I say this after having numerous experiences speaking with young white foreigners in the United States who dropped the N-word casually in our conversations, perhaps thinking that its widespread use in hip hop music makes it okay to use in a public setting in the US.

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Sweden, which is a far cry from the ghettos of the Bronx. To ask myself what it meant to sound credible or legitimate as a hip hop artist, I began to think about what circumstances could produce the kind of disempowerment taken up in American and other subversive hip hop music. Examples of how Tensta’s childhood was fraught with challenges are readily available in his music; these include a drug-addicted father who was in jail and otherwise absent, the threat of handgun violence, a distressing visual landscape of concrete, and failed promises from politicians (Persson 2011; Taal, Mossing, and Lundberg 2011; Taal, Sandström, et al. 2011; Taal, Franklin, et al. 2011; Tensta 2007; Azarmi n.d.).

Circumstances Giving Rise to Swedish Hip Hop We are no longer in a time where hip hop legitimacy can be limited to those who are English speakers from American urban housing projects (Jones 2011). Rather, hip hop’s legitimacy and urgency has greatly expanded into the global realm, given modernity’s greater access to music from other spaces and places, and also on account of neoliberal economic policies that produce a surplus of individuals who are left behind in the quest for a materially better life (Bauman 2007). The ravaging effects of neoliberal policies are not lost on Sweden’s neighborhoods with high proportions of immigrants and their children, as such policies and ideals have been a driving force behind increased surveillance and decreased social funding (Sernhede 2011; Beach and Sernhede 2011; Söderman 2011). In the face of such challenges, despite considerable attempts by the state to fight inequalities via social welfare policies, many immigrants and those of immigrant origin live in blighted Swedish suburbs at higher rates than do ethnic Swedes (Szulkin and Jonsson 2007; Andersson, Bråmå, and Holmqvist 2010). This kind of isolation also gives rise to popular culture fear of the other, which in day-to-day life is materialized through sensationalized news reports, hiring discrimination, and a growing perception that those who do not identify as ethnic Swedes are somehow responsible for the degradation of society (Heber 2011). While explanations for social segregation in Sweden have been discussed at greater length elsewhere (see Andersson, Bråmå, and Holmqvist 2010; Bevelander 2004), a brief description of the social realities in Sweden that give rise to ingroups (i.e., ethnic Swedes) and outgroups (e.g., refugees, female immigrants, Asian and African immigrants with limited schooling, children of immigrants) is necessary in order to better understand the situations that give rise to hip

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hop. While it is impossible to provide here a full picture of the circumstances and policies that both give rise to othering and segregation and contribute to social and economic marginalization, in what follows I will touch upon some aspects of what is happening in Sweden in relation to these processes. Physical location and segregation play a large role in how democratic ideals of education and access to resources take shape in Sweden for those who identify or are identified as others. To begin with, one of the ways in which non-ethnic Swedes’ access to equal resources in Sweden is impeded occurs as a result of limited access to (desirable) housing. In many large cities, the wait for a rental apartment can often last several years, making it difficult for newcomers to get rental apartments in desirable areas (Abramsson, Borgegård, and Fransson 2002). Because most larger cities have a shortage of rental apartments, it is common for those coming from outside the country to find housing in areas that ethnic Swedes might avoid or have already fled (Andersson, Bråmå, and Holmqvist 2010; Andersson 2007). An example of such areas are suburbs that were built as a part of Miljonprogrammet (the Million Program), which was a government housing project that planned for the construction of one million new residences within a period of ten years during the 1960s and 1970s. While this program is often credited with improving not only the number but also the quality of apartments in Sweden, factors such as a lack of good services nearby contributed to flight from these areas (Lauster 2008; Andersson, Bråmå, and Holmqvist 2010). Furthermore, Adam Tensta (Ford 2008) has stated that the placement of refugees in Million Program areas has led to segregation. Despite efforts to fight anticipated segregation by encouraging a variety of households to settle in suburbs and by resettling refugees into more rural areas, an overwhelming percentage of those living in suburbs comprised of Million Program housing are foreign or of foreign origin (Tottmar 2009; Andersson, Bråmå, and Holmqvist 2010; Andersson 2007). Tensta is one such area. Furthermore, once individuals live in blighted suburban areas, it becomes difficult for them or their children to leave or otherwise gain full access to the privileges of Swedish citizenship. Drawing upon the work of Wacquant (2009, 2008, 2007), Ove Sernhede (2011) describes these neighborhoods in Sweden as “territorially stigmatized” (161) and argues that “[f]or more than two decades in Sweden, immigrant-dense housing areas have been segregated and separated from the rest of society” (162). Likewise, Sernhede states that “[t]his stigmatization contributes to forming stereotypical notions of crime as well as cultural and religious antagonisms, which in turn give rise to fear and moral panic” (2011, 163). Heber (2011)

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argues that media coverage of fear of crime in Sweden is rather recent, beginning in the 1990s—interestingly, the 1990s was also the decade that saw an ushering in of neoliberal policies such as those leading to an increased number of free (charter) schools, greater unemployment, and heightened social stratification disproportionally affecting those of foreign origin (Söderman 2011; Mulinari and Neergaard 2010; Johansson and Olofsson 2011). Mariani (2001) states that countries under the influence of neoliberal policies have “an investment in fueling fear of crime” (3) in order to convince citizens that increased surveillance and policing are necessary. Schierup and Ålund (2011) argue that global leanings toward neoliberalism have affected Swedish and other societies in such a way that has resulted in “related processes of segregation, racialised exclusion and poverty concentrated in the disadvantaged neighbourhoods of European and North American cities” (46). In other words, disappearing social safety nets and increased suspicion of others are a result of the nascent demonization of the poor, who themselves are an inevitable outcome of neoliberal policies that champion the power of the market and simultaneously blame the poor for their misfortunes (Bauman 2007; Wacquant 2009). Because less market regulation often leads to greater social insecurity and an eroding of social programs (Bauman 2011; Beach and Sernhede 2011; Giroux 2004), one could argue that dominant groups within societies have a vested interest in sequestering and controlling the unrest that inevitably results when so many become have-nots. To be blunt, one might say that segregation is not only inevitable but also intentional. While difficulties accessing desirable housing may not seem like enough reason to cause major differences among native Swedes and those of immigrant origin when it comes to attaining or achieving other opportunities, one might consider the ways in which the problem of housing access relates to other issues that those of foreign background may face while living in a particular country. Several studies (see Drever and Clark 2002; Danso and Grant 2000; Abramsson, Borgegård, and Fransson 2002; Logan, Fang, and Zhang 2009; Arbaci and Malheiros 2010) have suggested a correlation between immigrants’ or migrants’ inability to achieve social or economic parity with a country’s or region’s native population and their access to desirable housing or residential areas. Although access to desirable housing cannot absolutely guarantee equal access to other resources, it seems clear that individuals are more likely to be excluded in other ways if they are physically excluded from good housing opportunities—especially when living in Swedish suburbs often

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means facing discrimination by default due to sensationalized media perceptions of these areas (Sernhede 2011; Sernhede and Söderman 2010; Johansson and Olofsson 2011). Sensationalized media treatment of suburbs puts forth the message that suburban areas are “dangerous to everyone who lives or spends time there” (Heber 2011, 72). In the case of Sweden, market driven changes have been both referred to and justified as a solution to ensure that students living in poorer or less desirable areas are not destined to have poor schools with unequal resources. It has been suggested that the explosion of “free schools” and concomitant school choice policies beginning in the early 1990s would provide students living in poorer areas the opportunity to choose better schools, although studies have stated that higher-income families are more likely to benefit from the ability to choose a school (Klitgaard 2008; Beach and Sernhede 2011; Mulinari and Neergaard 2010). Furthermore, free schools are often driven by market demands, thus influencing the ways in which teachers act in the classroom rather than necessarily working to support democratic ideals or equality of opportunity (Fredriksson 2009; Westling Allodi 2007; Alexandersson 2011). While not solely a consequence of the increase in the number of free schools, minorities are currently significantly overrepresented among those students who do not obtain sufficient scores in certain school courses (Westling Allodi 2007; Hartsmar 2008; Beach and Sernhede 2011)—a reality that excludes many students from the possibility of higher education and its associated advantages like higher income or job satisfaction (Sernhede 2011). One can argue that the appealing illusions of choice in schooling, as promoted by neoliberal market-driven ideals (Giroux 2010; Sernhede 2011), ultimately fail to address and can even exacerbate problems of segregation and individuals’ difficulty to thrive in educational environments (Alexandersson 2011; Beach and Sernhede 2011). In this way, schools function as a means of widening the opportunity gap between ethnic Swedes and those of immigrant origin instead of narrowing it (Beach and Sernhede 2011; Sernhede 2011; Mulinari and Neergaard 2010). Furthermore, although some studies have shown that children of immigrant origin feel comfortable in their schools, many realize that school cannot provide the means for them to get out of their neighborhood or away from their problems (Beach and Sernhede 2012). To address anticipated problems in immigrants’ adjustment to life in Sweden, the Swedish government has taken steps to ease the challenges of living in a new society. In regard to language challenges, such help comes in the form of free Swedish classes (Svenskundervisning för invandrare, or

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Swedish for Immigrants- see http://www.skolverket.se/2.3894/in_english /2.1144/2.2757/2.2631) and Modersmålsundervisning/Hemspråk, or native language instruction opportunities in children’s mother tongue(s)3 (see http://modersmal.skolverket.se/engelska/index.php/mother-tongueeducation). Among the reasons for offering such programs, particularly the former, is that language is viewed instrumentally as a key to integration and social mobility, whether or not this is actually true in practice (Hartsmar 2008). One could argue that speaking Swedish has done little to solve non-ethnic Swedes’ problems, just as Macedo, Dendrinos and Gounari (2003) have argued that speaking English has not been the key to success for African Americans or Latinos in the United States. The success of the SFI program has been challenged, however, and it has been shown that a high percentage of SFI teachers lack basic training (Lindberg and Sandwall 2007). Furthermore, SFI has also become subject to the whims of the privatization of education, and the public image of the program is poor (Lindberg and Sandwall 2007). Regarding mother tongue language learning for children in schools, the native language instruction program is implemented at the level of each municipality, leaving a wide margin of variation in the nature of programming and amount of time spent doing such instruction; furthermore, in some areas, at least five students must sign up in order to receive instruction in a particular language, and program cuts and recent criticism of native language instruction and bilingual education have presented challenges to the success of the program (Mulinari and Neergaard 2010). Despite these efforts and other efforts of the state, difficulties remain for those with origins outside of Sweden—even for those who were adopted into ethnic Swedish families as babies or young children (Hübinette and Tigervall 2009). In other words, speaking Swedish has not been the magical key that opens up doors; this could not be shown more clearly than in the cases of many children born in Sweden and raised by immigrant parents. If one is to imagine that having been born in Sweden would offer advantages that would otherwise be inaccessible to immigrants, this is not the case. And while the realities of living in challenging situations cannot be generalized across diverse contexts to the extent that such situations could produce identical realities, at a global 3

Note: being an immigrant is not a prerequisite to having native language instruction; rather, this program is available to all children whose first language is not Swedish, regardless of where they were born.

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level, hip hop music has often surfaced among oppressed groups as a means of social action in the face of challenges or life circumstances that can lead to social marginization (Mitchell 2001). While the reasons that place a high number of individuals of immigrant origin at a disadvantage are numerous and complex, and this discussion has certainly not presented an exhaustive account, I hope to have presented a brief outline of the circumstances that can cause frustration and impeded fair access to the privileges that Swedish society offers to some. The purpose of this section is to suggest that it is therefore not surprising that those who find themselves literally on the edges of society (e.g., segregated suburbs, high unemployment, underfunded schools) might seek to make sense of their realities in a larger context, whether that context be national or international—a phenomenon which, when materialized through music and other elements of hip hop culture, is what Beach and Sernhede (2012) refer to as a hip hop “global-tribe community” (7). Adam Tensta is one of several individuals in Sweden who have found hip hop music to be a means by which to both challenge territorial stigmatization and also put forth positive identity representations against a backdrop of mainstream media’s exaggerated or inaccurate portrayals of his and other suburban areas. Tensta, whose tracks are often autobiographical, describes the frustration and discrimination of an individual from a stigmatized suburb in Sweden. Although many of the realities he describes are dark, Tensta has used his platform as an artist to be an activist in different ways: first, by producing diverse forms of public pedagogy, attempting to open dialogue and achieve understanding from those who dare not venture into his suburb or who suspect that he is a drug dealer; and second, by taking activism beyond the mode of rapping by giving public interviews and serving as a volunteer ambassador for Rädda Barnen4 (Save the Children’s Sweden chapter), BRIS- Barnens Rätt i Samhället5 (Children’s Rights in Society), and Ungdom Mot Rasism6 (Youth Against Racism) (Azarmi n.d.), thus working to increase awareness about issues facing people from his neighborhood. By using the aforementioned means to resist how popular Swedish culture ascribes negative identity/ies to those from his community, Tensta is a figure who offers alternative ways through which 4

http://www.rb.se/ http://bris.se/ 6 http://www.umr.nu/ 5

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individuals can address or define identity struggles. Furthermore, by performing hip hop music in a Swedish context, Tensta has been able to reach ethnic-Swedes who live outside Swedish suburbs, which positions him as a bridge between “insiders” and “outsiders.” One might argue that Tensta’s music may be more approachable for ethnic Swedes because he raps about racism and discrimination in English—a language that may be less threatening as it is non-native yet has widespread usage in the country, especially among younger Swedes. Choosing to remain living in Tensta despite his success, (Nöjesguiden älskar Adam Tensta [Entertainment Guide loves Adam Tensta] 2011), Adam Tensta exemplifies hip hop’s “decentralized face-to-face dynamic” (Dimitriadis 2009, 2) by working within his community and beyond in order to make others aware of the realities of life in his neighborhood. Adam Tensta, operating as a public pedagogue in an environment in which the promises of Swedish democracy fail to materialize for many individuals, enacts what Säfström calls a pedagogy of dissensus (2010). In a pedagogy of dissensus, individuals are able to resist and challenge dominant knowledge by assuming agency and gaining a voice that has been previously denied by the existing social order. Säfström states: In order to claim that one has a place in a world from which one is denied access, it is not enough simply to show the consequences of the existing order of exclusion, even if that is a necessary first step. In order to be seen and to be heard, or to be able to address the wrong through which one can appear on the stage as a political subject by connecting oneself to the clash between the equality of speaking beings and the unequal society, one has to establish simultaneously, following Rancière (2005): (a) oneself as a legitimate speaking subject (b) what one puts forward as the argument; and (c) the object of one’s argument, in relation to a receiver who is asked to see and hear this argument which in normal cases is neither seen nor heard (2010, 613).

In this case, the receiver may be viewed as Swedish society at large, and the argument can be something that amounts to a challenge from Tensta to reconsider identity or neighborhood stereotypes. Thus, the mode of hip hop music performed in English is a useful means through which Tensta broaches uncomfortable issues of inequality in a country in which consensus and social harmony are highly valued (Pedersen 2010) and, in doing so, claims a space for himself in Swedish society on his own terms. Because Tensta not only works largely outside of mainstream music labels but also combines hip hop with other modes of public pedagogy such as blogging, a YouTube channel, Twitter, and interaction with fans on his Facebook page and personal homepage, he is able to assume a position of

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agency through which his and others’ realities are put forth and negotiated amongst people both within his community and in other areas of Sweden and beyond. Tensta uses the aforementioned Internet-based modes as a pedagogical means through which he and other individuals can “test, experience and deconstruct the dominant discourses of ethnicity, nation, and belonging” (Mainsah 2011, 182). Because Tensta is not signed exclusively to a major record label and his persona has developed largely through Internet-based modes, his reconnaissance in the public eye has been gradual and difficult to track precisely. His first album, It’s a Tensta Thing, was released in 2007, and in 2008 Tensta won a Swedish Grammis award for it in the category of Dance/Hip Hop/Soul album of the year; this moment certainly earned him national recognition within Sweden. Adam Tensta’s second album, Scared of the Dark, was released in April 2011. In addition to two albums, Tensta has: recorded tracks with other Swedish artists such as Eboi and Dida who are also a part of the Respect My Hustle Management Group, in addition to tracks and remixes with/of songs by artists from many countries such as the US, the UK, and Norway; appeared on the Swedish cooking game show Halv åtta hos mig (7:30 at My Place) in 2010; videorecorded and distributed ciphers (i.e., freestyle rapping) on his Web site and YouTube featuring himself and other artists; and performed at numerous shows within Europe, Africa, and the US. Exploiting the interactional and educational possibilities common to various modes of Internet media, Tensta argues that the artists of today need to be open to such venues as modes through which to reach fans, as contemporary artists no longer can depend on individuals to buy albums after hearing a single track (Ford 2008).

“Do I Look Like I Sell Drugs?” Identity in the Works of Adam Tensta In what follows, I will pull examples from Tensta’s public pedagogies in order to share with the reader the understandings of identity that I have gained from being engaged with his life works while documenting his living biography. An analysis and discussion linking Tensta’s public pedagogies shall be woven into the examples presented here so as to elucidate the process of meaning negotiation that has occurred in my interaction with Tensta’s pop culture curriculum. Detailing how identity struggles in Tensta’s work became salient to me is an essential step in the documentation of a living biography, as it allows the reader to see how the connections between life stories emerge when one does this kind of work.

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Further, this discussion sheds light on the process of doing living biographies, especially when it comes to an outsider (myself as a foreigner in Sweden) writing about another “outsider” (Tensta).

Excerpt from “Overload” Look, you should’ve seen it coming It was right in front of your nose Or what would you think would happen In these here concrete rows When people can’t integrate with A system that don’t want them involved And you can be the one to try it But you ain’t gonna get no job And so the hoods ablaze All over the map, now it’s in your face And they pulling the funding for the youth So what makes you even think that the shit’s gonna fade When the young kids wanna be like their brothers And their brothers only bringing home trouble And how it looks right now Is nothing, the worst shit hasn’t even started I’m talking riots and firearms You already know what happened in the projects of Paris We talking Molotov cocktail bombs Is not that far off, don’t be surprised if it happens In a neighborhood near you Maybe even somewhere near your kids’ school Well, you wouldn’t want that would you Then what is it with these crackers that think that we do What is it with these crackers that think that we do 7 In “Overload” , a song that he has ciphered in videotaped interviews,

Tensta describes the social unrest that has been building over time as a result of constant social rejections facing people from his and other suburbs. What is particularly interesting about the lyrics in “Overload” is how Tensta references the plight of other suburban areas, specifically in France, in regard to the brewing storm he cautions is imminent. Tensta’s warning of trouble to come indexes those warnings of other hip hop artists 7

© 2011 Universal Music, RMH Management Group, A. Taal, O. Franklin, M. Mossing, N. Lundberg. Text by Adam Taal.

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speaking from marginalized areas, particularly in France (see Schofield 2005). Furthermore, indexing social unrest in France has also been done by scholars Ove Sernhede (2011) and Johan Söderman (2011), who reference Lash (1994) in stating that it was only a matter of time before Europe experienced the kind of social unrest similar to what happened in the United States following the beating of Rodney King by police officers. Although events such as protests and suburban rioting have not occurred to as great an extent in Sweden as in France, youth rebellion in certain suburbs of Sweden has demonstrated similar frustrations as those echoed in “Overload.” Negative media representations and territorial stigmatization of minority areas require suburban youths to have “to deal with the symbolic images of Otherness” (Johansson and Olofsson 2011, 187), as the majority of the population receives consistent negative enforcement of ideas of what it means to live in or go into these areas. For example, in 2008, the mainstream media described youth “riots” in the city of Malmö, including stone throwing and car burning that police assumed to be protests related to the closure of an Islamic cultural center in order for the landlord to use the space differently (Rothenborg and Ringborg 2008). However, others argue that the protests were not merely in response to the mosque’s eviction, but rather a result of years of frustration over squalid living conditions, child poverty, and poor treatment (Eriksson 2008). Furthermore, Swedish police officers were filmed using racial epithets while speaking about the demonstrators and making violent threats against them (Nannini Nilsson and Andrén 2009); ultimately, the officers in question were not charged for these actions (Österberg and Arkert 2009). Additional rioting occurred in Stockholm, Gothenburg, Malmö, Uppsala, and other Swedish cities in the latter half of 2009. While there is speculation as to the cause of or motivation behind these incidents, Sernhede (2011) believes that these events were not organized; he refers to them as an “unarticulated justice movement” (177) based on his observation of media reporting and his own discussions with suburban youths. Although Sweden’s recent riots and protests might not be on the same scale as those in France referenced by Tensta in “Overload,” it is worth emphasizing that Tensta is issuing a warning of more action to come related to social frustration and discrimination. The idea of desperation in Swedish suburbs is further explained by Tensta in an interview: Tensta is not that different from projects you can find in the U.S. The people, who live out here have grown accustom [sic] to being on the outside, trying to fit in as best they can. Today the situation is getting worse if you see the whole in terms of segregation and the issues that touch

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Tensta’s clarification further highlights the related nature of certain struggles among the world’s disadvantaged communities. Here, I call particular attention to the nature of how such struggles may be related to the repercussions for those who find themselves exploited or transferred by force due to neoliberalism’s ravages of a society—in particular, Tensta’s statement makes a connection between the frustration in his neighborhood and the notion that individuals such as refugees and those who have moved according to the flows of globalization’s whims are human waste (Bauman 2004, 2011). Whether or not making this connection was intentional, Tensta’s message of a relationship between the struggles of those living in projects across the world offers his audience pause to consider how the problems facing individuals in one area may be not coincidental, but indeed symptomatic of larger patterns of economic deprivation and social discrimination. In 2011, Tensta was interviewed by the newspaper Dagens Nyheter and asked about the introduction on his album “Scared of the dark.” In the introduction, youths listening to a radio report on stone throwing and car fires in Tensta are heard cheering, which is a reference to events that happened in 2009 in Tensta (Björklund 2011). Tensta explains: Jag vill att folk ska förstå att det är exakt vad som händer när människor känner sig utanför, sysslolösa och är som väldigt många av ungdomarna i förorten är, fulla av hävdelsebehov. Man vill bli uppmärksammad, även om det inte är för något positivt. För mig, i mitt huvud, är det inte så konstigt att de kastar sten. Inte i den riktning Sverige är på väg. Det är därför de jublar när de nämns i radion (Björklund 2011). I want people to understand that it’s exactly what happens when people feel outside, idle, and are as really many of the youths in the suburbs are, full of assertiveness: One wants to be given attention, even if it’s not for something positive. For me, in my head, it’s not so strange that they throw stones. Not with the direction in which Sweden’s heading. That’s why they celebrate when they are named on the radio.

Tensta’s theory is that youths from neighborhoods like his own are frustrated with being ignored to the point where they resort to throwing stones as a means of getting people to notice that they even exist. Because the areas in which large percentages of immigrants and their children live, attend school, and often work are physically outside of cities, feelings of being invisible to the general population are understandable. Indeed, Shannon (2000) has argued that attempts to reassert identity and name

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oneself in the public sphere are ways that groups or individuals have “asked and sometimes demanded to be acknowledged as being present, as being capable makers of culture, and as being worthy of respect” (90). In the two final lines of “Overload,” Tensta challenges a perception held by people whom he refers to as “crackers,” who assume that those living in his neighborhood actually enjoy rioting or causing social disorder. By identifying individuals using a term commonly used in a derogatory manner against whites, Tensta (intentionally or inadvertently) identifies himself and those from his neighborhood as others, either meaning people of color or others in the sense of being precluded from (white) society and its privileges. While this self-othering may be done for several reasons, one may be that here Tensta is enacting a pedagogy of dissensus, establishing a voice of or by Swedish society’s others with the goal of rejecting or redefining what may be mainstream beliefs that people of color (or in a broader sense, non-ethnic Swedes) are prone to violence or enjoy causing social unrest. Rather, the voice that Tensta establishes here problematizes the idea that those young men with dark skin or who look “foreign” are a monolithic and crime-prone group. Such an idea is also confronted in the following excerpt of Tensta’s song “Dopeboy.”

Excerpt from “Dopeboy” Bass to the walls Dj spinnin’ that, fillin’ that song Excuse me, can I get by here? Place so packed, can’t move nowhere I’ma get something to drink, what you want? Can’t hear what you sayin’ homie speak up W-what you need man? I got your dough It’s buzzin’ in my pocket, let me check my phone Ho-hold up, my niggas in the line they tryna get in But the bouncer won’t let ‘em, typical shit Why we always gotta deal with them type of dudes? I was in a good mood, now they be fuckin’ my shit Been through this before this ain’t the first time nigga, matter of fact you saw me last week and remember I remember what, cause you did the same thing Made us stay for 20 minutes before you let us in Does it really have to be a situation?

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To further explore how identity is treated in the life works of Adam Tensta, I have selected an excerpt from his 2007 song entitled “Dopeboy,”8 a song released on Tensta’s first disc and featuring fellow Respect My Hustle Management Group artist, Eboi. “Dopeboy” and its iterations, such as the video for the “Dopeboy” remix created by DJ Al Azif, challenge popular culture notions of what it means to be othered in Swedish society. In particular, Tensta uses language as a tool to establish boundaries between himself and his friends and individuals who treat people of color differently based upon popular culture stereotypes. Furthermore, the “Dopeboy” remix video further attempts to problematize stereotyping of non-ethnic Swedes and, in doing so, provides an opportunity for dialogue in order to question such stereotypes. In this excerpt from “Dopeboy,” Tensta narrates the story of an individual in a club whose friends telephone him to say that they are being held up by the bouncer at the door on suspicion that they are carrying drugs. Being made to wait at the entry to the club due to a bouncer’s unfounded suspicion is an occurrence which Tensta indicates has happened before. Although it appears that the imagined interlocutor in this song changes a few times, it is interesting to see how Tensta self-identifies in this song. My initial beliefs in determining which interlocutors are allies of Tensta’s and which are not cannot help but be informed by my own impressions of how I have seen racial stereotypes, specifically one that Katheryn Russell-Brown (2009) refers to as criminalblackman, take shape in American society. Judging from Tensta’s texts, personal experience, and numerous articles, it seems that the image of a criminal dark-skinned individual is common in Europe as well as in the United States. While the object of criminal suspicion in the United States has shifted somewhat to Arabs or those of Arab origin following the attacks of September 11, 2001, the fact remains that black men are continued receivers of popular culture suspicion and fear, among other negative attributions (Entman and Rojecki 2000; Russell-Brown 2009). It is from the perspective of a stereotyped young black man that Tensta positions himself in “Dopeboy,” with the apparent goal of challenging common situations in which he and other men of color are systematically discriminated against. Although Tensta’s lyrics are more than likely describing his experiences in Sweden (he had not yet been to the US at the 8 © 2007 Universal Music, RMH Management Group, A. Taal, I. Banda, D. Wallberg, Z. Rifat, and N. Lundberg. Text by Adam Taal and Ibrahima Banda.

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time he wrote this song), his description of racial profiling brings to mind the expression “living while black” (Russell-Brown 2009, 62), which describes being singled out on a regular basis by virtue of being black. Being discriminated against due to skin color is an occurrence that other Swedish youths have described as a way that they are othered by or treated differently from ethnic Swedes (Hällgren 2005). One way that Adam Tensta confronts racial profiling is by using language as a means to either include or exclude those whom he is close to and those who discriminate against him. An example of this is how Tensta uses controversial identity terms from the United States; however, the use of specific terminology functions at different points to either create closeness with some or to establish distance from others. For example, although Tensta refers to his friends as “my niggas” in this excerpt, one cannot necessarily fall back on the common black/white binary paradigm (Perea 1997) to assume that the bouncer is white and perhaps thus representative of mainstream Swedish society. In line 11, the bouncer is referred to as one of “them type of dudes” who regularly gives Tensta and his friends a hard time, and then Tensta addresses the bouncer as “nigga” in line 13. In this instance, Tensta may be using the word nigga9 as an insult; Alim has argued that “recently the term has been generalized to refer to any male … though it usually refers to a Black male” (2005). Others such as IBé and Montgomery (2011) present conflicting viewpoints of “nigga,” with Montgomery ultimately claiming that even though the word is pronounced with a final -a instead of -er on the end, it is still a word that originally intended to insult and keep black people down. My guess is that Tensta uses this word to present a wake-up call or reality check to the bouncer in an attempt to curtail the bouncer’s power over his friends. Not only has “Overload” been used by Adam Tensta to challenge racial profiling, but also it has been remixed by Al Azif (né Jiar Garmiani), a Swedish DJ from Stockholm. In tandem with the remix of the original “Dopeboy,” Azif both created the concept for and filmed a video in which he furthered Adam Tensta’s tradition of problematizing the criminalblackman stereotype. Azif’s video (see http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ui6RvflfJsA) begins with a sample of Gregory Coleman’s “Amen Break”—a drum solo that has been used so ubiquitously in popular culture so as to render it 9

As opposed to ending this word with -er.

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virtually untraceable (Väkevä 2010)—playing as Azif prints a piece of paper with the words “Do I look like I sell drugs?” in large black bold text. Following the introduction to the video appear a number of “average joes” (Zakariae n.d.), celebrities, and politicians holding up the paper in front of the camera. Among the many well-known people holding the sign are Mona Sahlin (former chair of the Swedish Social Democrat party), Isabella Löwengrip (Swedish blogger also known as Blondinbella), Adam Tensta, Dogge Doggelito (member from one of Sweden’s oldest hip hop groups, The Latin Kings), and Robert Aschberg (journalist and TV producer). By drawing together a group of individuals whose diversity includes varying ages, vocations, ethnicities, genders, and physical dis/abilities, Azif appears to be both extending and exaggerating Adam Tensta’s original challenge that questions why young men of color are often suspected of being drug dealers. In other words, Azif takes the question of why some people seem more suspect than others and turns it on its head by having people such as quadriplegics, a farmer, a small child, and a nurse hold up the “Do I look like I sell drugs?” paper, in an apparent attempt to emphasize the absurdity of stereotyping individuals on the basis of skin color. What is also interesting about the “Dopeboy” remix video is the fact that Tensta participates as one of the first people in the video to hold Azif’s paper. By appearing in Azif’s video, Tensta’s role as a public pedagogue becomes even more personal in that he actually becomes involved in the works that are inspired by and created as a result of his public pedagogy. In this sense, as both a producer and reproducer of pedagogies intended to inspire reflection about and rebellion against the status quo, Tensta engages in what Väkevä (2010) refers to as music “as culturally transformative praxis” (66). Ultimately, although it is Al Azif who created the musical parody of “Dopeboy,” Tensta is a pedagogue who provides materials for others to be apprenticed into the processes of creating musical and video pedagogies that aim to disrupt otherwise unchallenged or unquestioned racist beliefs. By working as a public pedagogue and contributing to the pedagogies of others, Tensta is able to create a public space for those who are othered or somehow excluded from mainstream Swedish society—a space which, by virtue of allowing for the articulation of personal concerns about identity and representation, allows for the growth of both Tensta’s and Azif’s sociological imaginations. Thus, the exchange of knowledge and ideas between the personae of Tensta and Azif, combined with the further impact that their pedagogies have upon agents within society at large, might be viewed as a constantly changing nexus exemplifying what Gergen (2009) has referred to as

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transformative dialogue—a term that I paraphrase here to mean dialogue that allows individuals to envision and build new, more mutually satisfactory worlds together based on the resolution of shared concerns.

From “Overload” to Unloading: Channeling Frustration to Action As a public pedagogue, Tensta uses music and other modes of public pedagogy to address both personal and public social issues. Tensta has disseminated items such as the songs “Overload” and “Dopeboy” (and others such as “Bangin’ on the System” and “They Wanna Know”) in what appears to be an attempt to critique existing realities in which so many people of immigrant background face discrimination, disempowerment, or otherwise limited access to the same resources as ethnic Swedes. However, to confront issues like discrimination against non-ethnic Swedes and immigrants, Tensta has also used other forms of public pedagogy such as interview activism and serving as a representative for social awareness organizations. Interview activism here refers to the act of engaging in interviews with the goal of furthering awareness about particular causes or issues. In some cases, Tensta’s interview activism overlaps with his volunteer work with social organizations, in that some of Tensta’s activism with particular organizations involves him being interviewed about particular causes that he supports. Specific organizations Tensta has volunteered for include Rädda Barnen (Save the Children’s Swedish chapter), BRIS (Barnens Rätt I Samhället, or Children’s Rights In Society), and Ungdom Mot Racism (Youth Against Racism). In an interview for Rädda Barnen, Tensta emphasized his duty as a performer to call attention to social issues so as to effect change: [T]ror jag mycket på att man ska ta vara utav den tiden man är i rampljuset för att ta fram viktiga frågor. Man har ett ansvar. I really think that one has to take advantage of the time one’s in the spotlight to raise important issues. One has a responsibility. (Tre snabba med Adam Tensta [Three quick questions with Adam Tensta] 2009).

Although the causes that Adam Tensta personally supports overlap with those of the organizations he has aligned himself with, Tensta has also used interviews in combination with his public appearances as an artist in order to make specific statements. One such moment was Tensta’s response to right wing Sweden Democrats’ leader Jimmie Åkesson’s use of a Swedish folk costume on his first day in Parliament in 2010—an act

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which may or may not have been associated with Tensta’s own personal support of Ungdom Mot Rasism. Tensta’s response was to also wear a folk costume for his appearance in a magazine photo shoot which was accompanied by an interview explaining his intentions. First, some background information on the incident that caused Tensta to act. In the fall of 2010, the Sweden Democrats received—for the first time—enough popular votes in the national election to gain parliamentary representation, shocking many Swedes (Kianzad 2010). On the day in which the new Parliament first met, Åkesson arrived dressed in a costume of the province of Blekinge in an apparent attempt to evoke nostalgia for Sweden as it was before having more citizens of foreign origin (Rson Svensson 2010; Bergfeldt 2010). Months later in April 201110, Tensta appeared on the cover of the April 2011 issue of GAFFA magazine dressed in the folk costume of Dalarna, the region in which his mother grew up. Tensta explained in the interview that he appeared in costume in order “att göra det extra tydligt för folk hur Sverige ser ut idag” (to make it extra clear for people how Sweden looks today) (Franzén 2011, 18). Tensta continues: Det handlar om att visa att jag ser mig själv som en modern svensk, om att omfamna både mångkultur och svensk kultur. Den ena utesluter inte den andra, vilket många verkar vara rädda för. Det behöver ju inte bli mindre av den svenska kulturen bara för att vi influeras av andra (Franzén 2011, 18) It’s about showing that I see myself as a modern Swede, about embracing both multiculturalism and Swedish culture. One doesn’t cancel out the other, which many seem to be afraid of. It’s not really making less of Swedish culture, only that we are influenced by others.

Later in the interview, Tensta also mentions his identity as being Gambian, Finnish, and Swedish, and implies that his dressing in folk costume is not different from Åkesson doing the same, as both he and Åkesson are exhibiting pride over where they are from. Although their motives for wearing folk costume may be different—Tensta to exhibit pride in being a multicultural Swede and Åkesson to evoke nostalgia for Sweden before immigrants—the underlying feelings of pride inherent in each act are 10

Keeping in mind the presumed delay between the time when the photo shoot/interview took place and their publication date in April, this feature on Tensta likely took place relatively soon after Åkesson wore a folk costume to Parliament.

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related. By identifying both as a mainstream yet different (i.e., multicultural) kind of Swede, Tensta is able to reclaim public space as a pedagogue of dissensus who legitimizes his notion of a modern Swedish identity, all the while simultaneously including and subduing the perspective of right wing leader Jimmie Åkesson.

“Bangin’ On The System”: Or, Adam Tensta’s Life Works and My Sweden To explain how I interpret how Adam Tensta (the persona) works as a public pedagogue to resist and put forth different understandings of identity, I owe it to the reader to more clearly situate myself as an agent within the context of Swedish society. After all, Adam Tensta may attempt to mediate the way identity is viewed, but ultimately Tensta’s work as a persona is rendered here in the form of a living biography through my own life experiences as an agent. Therefore, in what follows, I will shed light on my own role in the documentation of Adam Tensta’s living biography. In the sense that I was neither born in Sweden nor am I a Swedish citizen, I cannot really claim permanent roots to this country. On the other hand, my son was born here, so while that might be a semblance of a root of mine growing into the soil, our situation feels more like what Bauman (2011) refers to as an anchor, in that our attachment can be picked up and transported elsewhere. Because my family and I have other places to go in which attachments already exist, I do not feel desperate nor have what I imagine to be a level on par with Adam Tensta’s frustration with Swedish society. Furthermore, my experiences as a privileged white female from the United States are likely to be different from those of a black male who was born in Sweden. Additionally, not having native fluency in Swedish, nor the same familiarity with the culture, also prevents me from having a more comprehensive awareness of how people express understandings of identity and difference in ways that are objectionable to Tensta. That said, despite differences in our backgrounds, it is not difficult to begin to understand the tip of the iceberg of what Adam Tensta refers to as being socially excluded or otherwise outside of society. Even though I don’t live in an “outsider” area such as Tensta or in another major city suburb in Sweden, being an outsider has many facets. Let me explain. When my husband and I moved to Sweden, I quickly learned that unless one already has a highly skilled scientific degree or experience in a coveted field such as IT or certain kinds of engineering, finding a job to match my skillset without being able to speak Swedish would be a challenge. I didn’t want to work in a restaurant for the main reason that I

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had done that in college; but, not surprisingly, even those jobs required Swedish language skills. I learned through expatriate Web sites that word of mouth referrals and knowing people was the way to get a job here and, being in a university town, so-called semi- or unskilled labor positions are highly coveted by students. Furthermore, if native Swedes such as Tensta and others living in suburbs have difficulty getting jobs, I hardly could have expected to have more luck than them without speaking the language and having a firsthand familiarity with the culture. So, quite simply, a few months into my time in Sweden, I gave up trying to find a job. In any case, I became pregnant and came to the conclusion that it was more important to try to finish my PhD. I feared that if I did work once pregnant, I would never have time to finish my degree and, furthermore, I worried about being discriminated against by potential employers on account of my expanding belly. Because I was outside of the social system in the sense that I would not be eligible for full maternity leave benefits, working for a few months and then having to stop would not really change my situation. Interestingly, it is not just foreigners who find themselves outside of the system; rather, Schierup and Ålund (2011) state that in some suburban areas, as many as one in three youths in their early- to mid-twenties are “‘outside the system’: not working, not studying and with only a few having access to social welfare benefits” (53). While my being outside the system in this way is perhaps not surprising since I came to Sweden as an adult, it is all the more noteworthy that this can happen to those who are born here. Not speaking Swedish closed more than linguistic doors. All anyone who met me knew about me was that I was an American living in a country where I did not speak the language; after all of my efforts to learn about the world and its cultures and languages, on the surface I seemed quite ignorant to those I met, and I hated that. Being in Sweden in this context helped me to consider what it feels like to have a stereotype color people’s understanding of who I am before even having a chance to explain. A study done by Hübinette and Tigervall (2009) has addressed the issue of superficially-based othering of people of color in Sweden who were adopted as small children. The study highlights how: […] in spite of a compact belongingness to Swedishness and Swedish culture, having a Swedish citizenship, a Swedish language, a Swedish and Christian name, and above all, being fully integrated within a white Swedish family network, adoptees are obviously constantly racialised in everyday life (349).

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Although my experience is nowhere near as damaging as those of Adam Tensta and the individuals in Hübinette and Tigervall’s study, hearing the voices of Tensta and others address othering caused me to reflect upon what it feels like to be pigeonholed, something that happens to so many people in the US on a regular basis, but that my white privilege has allowed me to escape. While I don’t pretend that my experience of feeling limited in Swedish society is anything close to how people of color are often stereotyped in the US (or in Sweden for that matter), being obliged to consider what exclusion means—rather than just sympathizing with others abstractly—was a turning point in helping me to understand how processes of exclusion can take shape in Sweden. Feeling like a nameless stereotype was a situation that followed me into different aspects of our new life. For example, while attending my husband’s work-related functions, I was introduced as his wife. I had never felt a negative feeling of my role as a wife before someone at one of these functions reminded me that I was attending only because of my husband (i.e., not because of my own connections or merits). I began to dread these events because I felt like my identity was being erased. I could not even begin to imagine, then, how Adam Tensta or others feel when they are called second-generation immigrants—a term that devoids people of their agency as fully-participating citizens, thus functioning to limit their possibilities. Although Säfström (2010) argues that the concept of “immigrant” is not one that places an individual outside the system (i.e., by virtue of being outside the mainstream and therefore still a political player with a presence, albeit one at a disadvantage), the term secondgeneration immigrant still functions to close doors and prevent some from feeling like full citizens. Sometime during the process of adaptation to my new life in Sweden, I began to think about what it means to fit into a society and what it means to be an immigrant. Because the word immigrant does not, in my experience, have a negative association in the US (unless of course the term is preceded by the word “illegal”), I found no problem describing myself as an immigrant here in Sweden. However, upon talking with some Swedes and interviewing some people who fit my description of the term immigrant, I soon guessed that this was a dirty word, much as it is in France and other places in Europe. Reflecting upon this further, I came to the conclusion that, like in France yet unlike in the US, being an immigrant in Sweden doesn’t seem to be a situation that one’s children grow out of. Back home in the US, my Americanness was never called into question by fellow citizens, and I was not defined by other Americans as the child of an immigrant. When I spent a semester in Brazil, I was told

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by many people that being born in Brazil makes you Brazilian, and I never heard of a term similar to second- or third-generation immigrant over there. Why, then, would people here be referred to as such, and who were these people—both those using the term and those on the receiving end of it? Speaking with some Swedes, I learned that those living here who would fit my own understanding of the word immigrant are often divided into two groups: so-called first-world and third-world immigrants (or, European and non-European, yet non-European never seems to include other Western countries outside of Europe). Because I came from the US, am educated, and am not a refugee, I do not fit the mainstream perception of who an immigrant is. A European man living in Sweden whom I interviewed vehemently rejected the idea that he was an immigrant, saying that he chose to move here for work. (I didn’t realize that moving here for work and being an immigrant were mutually exclusive conditions!) So, does how one is perceived and treated depend upon where one is from and the circumstances in which one comes to Sweden? I would say yes and no. While my circumstances are much different from Adam Tensta’s, from those of the combined thousands of Iraqi refugees and the Chilean refugees who fled their homeland during the Pinochet era, feeling excluded from society takes many shapes and forms. (Nowadays, with nearly 15 percent of the population being foreign born (Summary of population statistics 1960-2010 2011), it is not as if foreigners or individuals of foreign origin are a rarity in Sweden.) Perhaps most importantly, where do the concepts of identity negotiation and the ability to name oneself fit into the picture of our life stories as individuals who feel excluded? At the end of the day, what do all of these voices and stories mean? Personally speaking, the process of situating myself into Swedish society by becoming an agent who negotiates meaning from Adam Tensta’s life works empowers both me and Tensta as members of Swedish society in a way that recalls Giddens’ (1991) concept of a “dialectic of control” (138), through which new understandings of identity in society are rendered useful by those who seek to make sense of their realities. Although the question of whether either Tensta or I stand inside or outside society can be answered in different ways, the fact remains that having one outsider make meaning out of the life works of another can provide an opportunity for others within Sweden to consider how they fit into the picture of a society that has become increasingly fragmented.

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Implications for Doing Living Biographies How does my living biography of Adam Tensta relate to the larger understanding of what it means to do living biographies? In considering the public pedagogies I have included in my discussion of how Tensta is motivated to effect social change by establishing himself as a pedagogue of dissensus, the reader—especially anyone familiar with Adam Tensta— may wonder about the process of selection that goes into doing living biography work. Of course, as in the life of any person, whether or not one is a public figure, there is an abundance of materials from which one can draw to create a portrait of a life that becomes committed to paper (despite the fact that a living biography’s ongoing meaning negotiation between agent and persona continues beyond written or typed pages). I had some difficult decisions to make in writing this chapter, one being how much of Tensta’s own reflections to include here. (By Tensta’s own reflections, I mean his Facebook or Twitter responses to fans’ posts or even further quotations from the GAFFA interview, in which Tensta described frustration over always being held up as a positive image of/figure from his neighborhood.) Further, my attempts to contact him for an interview went unanswered, which makes sense given that he has said that he hoped his recent CD would flop so that he would have more time (Björklund 2011). Tensta is in demand, and his reflections upon what this has meant for his personal relationships demonstrate the difficulty of being a public figure who exposes his deepest thoughts in such a private society (Björklund 2011). Therefore, I have had to rely exclusively on my own ideas of which materials would be useful in documenting Tensta’s living biography here. While other texts have certainly been involved in developing my understanding of how identity is contested in Sweden, what I am ultimately trying to do here for the reader is tell a life story in a way that describes a particular existing phenomenon: that of immigrant/outsider identity. As mentioned in the beginning of this chapter, telling this story— especially in committing it to paper— requires decision-making that depends largely on my own cultural capital and sense of which public pedagogies can best help me tell the story of Adam Tensta as seen through my eyes. Furthermore, my own understanding of the concept of living biography has grown as a result of writing this chapter. In order to make sense of Adam Tensta’s life works in the larger context of Swedish society, I have found Henry Giroux’s (1996, 2011) concept of witnessing to be particularly helpful as I use a sociological imagination (Mills 1959/2000)

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to draw connections between Tensta’s and my experiences. Reflecting upon the meaning of witnessing in the context of doing living biographies has helped to create an understanding of how what happens in society has an effect on individuals in ways that cannot be considered random or disconnected from each other. Giroux has stated that “witnessing and testimony … mean listening to the stories of others as part of a broader responsibility to engage the present as an ethical response to the narratives of the past” (1996, 9). Furthermore, Giroux believes that we stand to lose much if we do not use the acts of witnessing and giving testimony in an attempt to make sense of how we are situated today in relation to the past. Keeping this in mind, I have considered how my experiences in Sweden are connected to larger issues of struggles within Swedish society among people whose lives, superficially, may not seem to have much in common. Thus, bearing witness in the process of documenting living biographies— in my case, situating myself in Swedish society—can further help individuals find ways to make sense of larger realities to an even greater extent, as this act may help people understand how meaning is negotiated between agents and personae. Another challenge that arose in writing this chapter was how I wanted very much to use Tensta’s life works to help think about identity as I defined it early in the book, specifically identity as it is felt or experienced through the senses. This proved to be difficult to accomplish in documenting Tensta’s living biography. While I will address this challenge at greater length in the conclusion, here I can help to illustrate it by making a connection between my desire to find a way to quickly fit into Swedish society and my hope to explain more how identity is felt. No matter how much one wants to fit in or to have some kind of sensory experience when engaging with public pedagogies as these are situated in a certain place, specific sensory experiences cannot be forced by sheer earnestness. Rather, learning how to navigate and function in a society takes time, as can building the kind of relationship to music that allows one to experience it profoundly such that the music takes on a new life inside oneself. I could not force my adaptation process in Sweden faster than it has occurred, for this is like chasing a moving target; adapting is an ongoing experience that is constantly revised and built upon with new knowledge as time passes. Likewise, although Adam Tensta’s life works have been very meaningful in helping me to understand different perspectives within Swedish society, I am not yet moved by them in a sensory manner that can be described beyond the obvious aural recognition and enjoyment that occurs when I listen to Tensta’s music. In other words, I do not find my

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pulse adapting to the tempo as in the case of Faudel’s music, nor do I suddenly find myself recalling a particular rhythm or phrase in a way that is synchronized with my own personal senses or feelings other than that of hearing. Even so, not having an acutely heightened sensory reaction to Tensta’s music does not, for me, detract from my living biography of him. While having and describing such an experience would certainly add to this discussion, I do not believe that its absence takes away from the larger idea of how identity work is a rich process that is ongoing and always evolving as our engagement with life works continues.

CHAPTER FIVE TYING LOOSE ENDS: PRIVATE LIVES AND COMMON PUBLIC STRUGGLES

In this book, I have attempted to provide new ways of thinking about identity vis-à-vis engagement with life stories. I began by calling attention to the need to find new ways to consider how notions of identity are developing in France and Sweden, and I anticipated that working with life stories would yield insight into how individuals’ private problems are of public concern. In Chapter Two, I laid the theoretical groundwork for a concept I called living biography, drawing from the works of Bauman (2007, 2008), Freire (2000), Giddens (1991), Giroux (1999, 2001, 2004, 2010, 2011), Golden (1986), and Mills (1959/2000). In Chapters Three and Four, I documented my own living biographies of the music artists Faudel (France) and Adam Tensta (Sweden) to illustrate how the private struggles of public figures can help individuals use a sociological imagination (Mills 1959/2000) to think about their roles and obligations as citizens in a digitally connected and globalized world. To conclude the study, I shall first briefly revisit the concept of living biography and summarize specific issues raised in the living biographies of Faudel and Adam Tensta. Second, adverting to the theoretical work underpinning this study, I will describe how living biography helped me to view my own private issues as a piece of the puzzle of greater public concerns, also calling attention to how this work has impacted me as an educator/world citizen. Third, I will address challenges that arise in the process of doing living biography, specifically the risks, ethical concerns, and issues surrounding truth that arise when one becomes engaged with life stories. Finally, I shall finish by offering suggestions as to how living biography may be used in other contexts.

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Living Biography: Summary In this study I established the concept of living biography and provided examples of how living biography looks using the examples of Faudel, an Algerian-French raï singer, and Adam Tensta, a Gambian/Finnish-Swede hip hop artist. Living biography was defined as the ongoing process of meaning negotiation that occurs when an individual (i.e., agent): 1) seeks to understand how historical and current social forces and structures are brought to bear on and through the lives of those (i.e., personae) who produce public pedagogies; and 2) evaluates his or her own relationship to personae’s struggles and their society/ies. The convergence of the knowledge that personae disseminate and the meaning that agents derive from and put into a persona’s life works is a nexus of possibility, providing clues to how individuals can exercise their sociological imaginations to feel empowered as intellectuals capable of theorizing their world (Mills 1959/2000; Giroux 2010, 2011). To set up Chapter Two’s theoretical discussion on living biography, in Chapter One I defined the terms identity, national identity, and citizenship, drawing from a blend of poststructuralist and postmodern understandings of performativity (Butler 1999; Riessman 2003; LaPointe 2010), positioning theory (Althusser 1971; Davies and Harré 1990; Anderson 2009; Benwell and Stokoe 2006), and the role of the senses (Seremetakis 1994; Kierans and Maynooth 2001). Informed by the work of Bauman (2008, 2011), Benson and Saguy (2005), Bhabha (2004), Cheng (2001), Echchaibi (2001), and Said (1978), I used living biography to learn about and situate Faudel and his music within post-colonial French society, exploring how Faudel’s linguistic decision-making (Harris, Gleason, and Ayçiçe÷i 2006) and the themes that arise in his music and public appearances both raise questions and suggest answers regarding how someone of Algerian-French descent is depicted and depicts himself in popular culture. In this exploration of how Faudel negotiates his identity, I considered how immigrant-origin individuals’ histories are or have been manipulated to accommodate or resist popular French culture’s understanding/expectation of égalité, noting how my own biography played a role in coming to these understandings. I also used living biography to explore how Tensta addresses identity in his life works in his role as a hip hop artist/activist and to explain how consideration of my own biography aided the process of making sense of how identity debates materialize in Swedish popular culture. This living biography suggests that sociohistorical issues, such as neoliberal policyinduced social marginalization (Wacquant 2008, 2009; Bauman 2004,

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2007, 2011; Sernhede and Söderman 2010; Sernhede 2011; Beach and Sernhede 2011; Giroux 2004, 2010), provide fertile ground for individuals like Adam Tensta to confront discrimination and social segregation in Sweden.

Transformation and Social Change Building upon the work of Mills (1959/2000), Bauman (2008, 2007, 2011), and Giroux (2010, 2010, 2011), I have argued that examining 1) the messages communicated and negotiated through/in biographical pedagogies and 2) the contexts within which personae operate provides insight into how identity becomes constructed and negotiated within the structures of society. Analyzing the tensions that exist between personae’s agency and the society/social constraints in which they work serves to “connect private troubles to larger social issues” (Giroux 2010). Regarding using life stories to understand society and social events/history, Mills (1959/2000) stated: We have come to see that the biographies of men and women, the kinds of individuals they variously become, cannot be understood without reference to the historical structures in which the milieux of their everyday life are organized. Historical transformations carry meanings not only for individual ways of life, but for the very character—the limits and possibilities of the human being (158).

To this end, the concept of living biographies I put forth helps us to think about the impact of a persona’s public pedagogies upon and in relation to ourselves and our life experiences, ultimately challenging us to name, describe, and historically contextualize the feelings or associations that such pedagogies evoke within us. Reflecting on the way that certain pedagogies make us feel provides an impetus for us to ask questions about how stories are constructed, for what purpose, and by whom (Edmondson 2012). Indeed, the development of our sociological imagination depends on asking such questions and upon having “the capacity to shift from one perspective to another, and in the process to build up an adequate view of a total society and of its components” (Mills 1959/2000, 211). Further, by considering how a persona’s life works—as situated within a society and developed within the constraints of social structures—affect us, we open the door to discovering how such pieces symbolize collective hopes, fears, and future obligations. In this sense, living biographies are a chronicle of dreams, losses, and mourning, setting up opportunities for us to know ourselves

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better as we learn about other people. And by better knowing ourselves, we as educators are better able to help our students to discover and name our shared hopes and struggles and situate these in our personal and collective pasts and our futures. On a larger scale, thinking about life stories as they exist across the official divides of nation-state boundaries accommodates “modernity’s reflexivity,” defined by Giddens as (1991) “the susceptibility of most aspects of social activity, and material relations with nature, to chronic revision in the light of new information or knowledge” (20). Being able to revise and reconsider our place in the world, we are better equipped to see more of how “globalization is a name for the experience that all persons on earth are related to each other in any number of ways without being able to imagine themselves as the family of a global sort they are” (Lemert 2005, 197, original emphasis). In other words, although larger structures may function to limit our agency by defining or attempting to define who we are or what we are capable of, we can begin to break down such borders to see how others’ experiences relate to our own. This praxis of acting and reflecting upon our life stories in relation to those of others empowers us as intellectuals capable of theorizing and changing our world in pursuit of more just opportunities for all. For me, doing living biographies has helped me come to a better understanding of myself as a multicultural person, allowing me to be more at peace with the conflicting aspects of my identity as they stack up against the backdrop and structures of different societies. I have begun to think more critically about how American, French, Swedish, and Italian cultures are fraught with complicated and conflicting messages about what it means to be a member of these societies, all of which offer wildly differing outcomes to their residents depending upon who said residents are and what life opportunities they have had. Exercising my sociological imagination through living biography, I have initiated and will continue an ongoing questioning process about what it means to be someone from a particular place, knowing that none of these possibilities (nor my understanding of them) is static or immune to disruption. This praxis will support my continued development as a citizen, educator, and public pedagogue. As Freire (2008) states: Integration with one’s context, as distinguished from adaptation, is a distinctly human activity. Integration results from the capacity to adapt oneself to reality plus the critical capacity to make choices and to transform that reality … The integrated person is person as Subject. In contrast, the adaptive person is person as object, adaptation representing at most a weak form of self-defense. If man is incapable of changing reality,

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he adjusts himself instead. Adaptation is behavior characteristic of the animal sphere; exhibited by man, it is symptomatic of his dehumanization (4, all emphasis original).

With the engagement of living biography, I transformed—from someone who felt powerless and defined by others as I tried so hard to fit in (i.e., adapt) somewhere—into a person who is able to critically examine the social and historical forces that have prevented people like me (and others) from integrating in the Freirean sense. In this way, the living biographies presented here are less about my own struggles but more about giving pause to consider how society can help or hinder individuals’ personal growth and informed participation. Jacqueline Edmondson (2012) states, “As we consider representations of people’s lives, we construct our own stories with and against these texts as we move through time and place to consider how the conditions of our lives can and should be otherwise” (44). To this end, Faudel’s and Adam Tensta’s living biographies demonstrate the possibility of how attempting to understand others’ identity struggles permits us to not only ask questions but also search for and demand answers and resolutions to existing social problems and inequity. Asking questions while engaging with life stories can also shed light on the forces in society that function to place a disproportionate number of people in substandard circumstances. As Eakin (2008) has said, “When we say who we are, we draw on—but are not wholly determined by—the physical and social constraints of our lives in human culture” (x-xi); the agency we gain through this process of defining/naming ourselves (Shannon 2000) can provide insight into the contemporary and historical structures that function to limit our agency and work to obscure the fact that our problems are neither merely individual nor disconnected (Mills 1959/2000). By using living biography to compare the life experiences of Faudel and Adam Tensta and our relationship to them, we can begin to see patterns in the way that urban ghettos and the people who reside there are characterized in a complicated manner as conflicted zones/representations of both (neoliberal) urban waste and hope writ large (Bauman 2004, 2007, 2011; Wacquant 2009, 2008). Discovering, naming, and problematizing such processes of characterization is a transformative literacy tool that can help citizens participate in society as critically conscious individuals. Freire (2008) speaks of literacy: […] as the consequence of men’s beginning to reflect about their own capacity for reflection, about the world, about their position in the world, about their work, about their power to transform the world, about the encounter of consciousness—about literacy itself, which thereby ceases to

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Chapter Five be something external and becomes a part of them, comes as a creation from within them (75).

Thus, living biography is a tool that empowers us to teach ourselves about the world, legitimizes the knowledge we all possess, and suggests hope for understanding others’ experiences in turn. Indeed, my own transformative growth resulted from thinking about and working with life stories, changing my status from someone who recognized difficulty in conceptualizing my own sense of identity to someone who was able to make connections between my own questions and the experiences that others have and have had in other places and spaces. This personal development was enabled by engagement with life stories in a manner that Giroux (2010) refers to as witnessing and testimony, in which hearing and telling stories is “both an ethical response to the narratives of the past and a broader responsibility to engage the future” (para. 15). In regard to self-empowerment and other-empowerment through research, it has been interesting for me to notice how when I began this project, I wished to move away from the critical theory of Habermas and Freire, as my initial engagement with their ideas left me with the feeling that there was little room to embrace critical theory without also accepting what I felt was their masculine/authoritative need to dictate to others what issues are worth fighting for. Before actually undertaking this study, I believed there to be limited generalizable emancipatory possibilities available to projects informed by critical theory, as I was wary of contributing to what I saw as the efforts of educators who meant well but ultimately worked from a privileged position from which to “save” others from their ignorance (real or imagined), while I had hoped that my study would cause people to think more critically about topics that we might otherwise take for granted (such as access to the privileges promised or allegedly guaranteed to us as citizens of a particular state). The fact that this project ends by reclaiming critical theory on my own terms is a testament to how a praxis of acting and reflecting when conducting research can provide hope for researchers to widen their understandings of what is possible when it comes to finding new ways to interpret and breathe new life into theory.

Challenges of Living Biography Working with life stories in the style of living biography raises issues associated with risk, ethics, and truth as the living biographies are engaged with by the agent and also, to a greater extent, as the living biographies

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become documented text and thus accessible by others. In this section, I shall address such challenges associated with biographical writing. Biography scholar Carl Rollyson (2005) stated, “Biographers blind themselves to the ramifications of their work—at least while they are doing it—because they are so wrapped up in telling their stories” (17). While I have made every effort to emphasize that living biography is the process of meaning negotiation that occurs between an agent and a persona, there is always a risk that: 1) someone might read the living biographies of Faudel and Adam Tensta and view them as fact; 2) that my interpretations of how these individuals explore identity could be contested or disputed by the personae themselves; or 3) that this kind of work with life stories may have certain consequences. Although I have drawn from a multitude of sources as I developed and continue to develop these individuals’ living biographies, I have not attempted to argue (nor do I believe) that my understanding of the phenomenon of identity in these artists’ life works is a definitive, nor the most accurate, portrayal of how Faudel and Tensta operate as public pedagogues in France and Sweden, respectively. Rather, the knowledge presented in this book is the result of my engagement with the life works in question, paying considerable attention to how I as an agent understand and put meaning back into the life works of these individuals; as such, what I bring to Faudel’s and Adam Tensta’s life works is constructed through the frame of my own life experiences. In making this statement, I acknowledge that “[t]he biographer, after all, has enormous power, selecting those aspects of a life to emphasize, those parts to leave out” (19) and that “biography remains invasive, however you dress it up” (Rollyson 2005, 36). While I used material that the artists themselves either created or endorsed (e.g., songs sung by the artist yet written by someone else), I found it necessary to draw in materials that the artists were not necessarily in control of with regard to final distribution (e.g., videos, interviews) in my attempt to provide a more complete picture of the social, political, and historical circumstances in which such works were created. While my living biographies are informed by work available in the public sphere (in other words, I did not search for classified or private documents that were unavailable to the general public), it is always possible that my discussion of Faudel’s and Adam Tensta’s identity struggles might be contested by others or even by the subjects themselves. Thus, one might question whether or not the living biographies here present truths and also whether or not it is ethical to explore a public figure’s life events. Some, such as Gergen (2009), argue that there are

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multiple ways of understanding reality and, when it comes to describing actual events in one’s life history, competing versions of what happened may exist. Discussing the issue of truth in writing life stories, Edmondson (2012) argues that in addition to the fact that there may be many versions of different events, one must consider not only which versions of the truth are used but also why they are selected. An example of how truths in these life stories might be contested is by considering circumstances surrounding particular life events in Faudel’s and Adam Tensta’s life works or by questioning the reasons why these men made certain decisions. While Tensta writes his own lyrics and has a hand in the production of music, Faudel often sings music with lyrics written by others. Although Faudel’s songs might present truths that cannot easily be disputed (e.g., that he was born in France), it is difficult to know the extent to which true events have been manipulated (e.g., the actual date of his first trip to Algeria, the clarification surrounding and ultimate rejection of his support for Nicolas Sarkozy) in his music to further specific ideas or to appeal to certain audiences. For Adam Tensta, one might ask questions about whether he might still be considered a legitimate voice of his community now that he has become well known and traveled extensively within Europe, North America and Africa, or whether the recent broaching of formerly taboo topics (e.g., troubled relationship with father) indicate an attempt to stay in the public eye amid a possible loss of credibility among local fans. More to the point, does Tensta manipulate the truth of what happened in his past now that he has widespread attention, knowing that people might be interested in the otherwise hidden private life of a Swedish public figure? As touched upon in Chapter Two, exploring the diverging representations of reality in competing stories or understandings of events is an important part of doing living biography. I argued that although societies and their institutions often encourage particular value systems, this does not mean that there exists only one way for stories or events to be meaningful to people (depending on how an individual makes sense of such items). Therefore, in order to better understand how public figures’ lives are represented and contested in public and in private, it is important for those working with life stories “to get their hands dirty. They need to get into the gore and guts of their subject” (Rollyson 2005, 77). Although delving further into the private lives of public figures might seem an invasion of privacy, individuals who compare their own life stories against those of public figures and the backdrop of specific societies must be able to test their own knowledge about reality against others’ representations of it. Paul John Eakin (2004) argues that:

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[…] people may protest the loss of their privacy, but with an assist from computers and cell phones in these wired and wireless times, they are conducting much of their private lives in public places; as see-all, tell-all Web sites proliferate, a lot of people log on and look (4).

Critically examining the ways in which public figures selectively represent themselves in the public sphere might also yield insight into how certain social structures function to impede access to information or otherwise limit people from understanding how lives can unfold given particular circumstances. Moreover, thinking about how representations may vary leads back to the idea of ethics and privacy in working with life stories. Scholar Alice Wexler (2004) wonders how it is possible to maintain a “commitment to ‘truth’ with respect for the needs of others for privacy” (166). I would argue that as we are individuals with different selves that we share depending on public or private contexts, the notion of absolute truth becomes weakened as identities are fluid and thus are subject to change. However, Paul Lauritzen (2004) argues in favor of the importance of maintaining a distinction between events that have actually happened and how we experienced such events to have happened. Although he refers to auto/biographical texts as “a significant resource for moral reflection” (24), Lauritzen also argues that for “life writing to be a useful resource for moral deliberation, then we must be extremely careful … about distinguishing between fact and fiction” (37). While the explanation of fact versus fiction in relation to life stories is certainly significant, it is also worthwhile to consider who gets to publicly determine events as fact and fiction and why such individuals have the authority to do so. Thinking about who has control over what is considered to be true knowledge (versus the experiential relationship to such knowledge) can yield insight into processes of how some people’s viewpoints and right to privacy have been or continue to be systematically marginalized. Furthermore, considering truth in relation to control over knowledge can help us consider how personae (or their stylists, public relations team, etc.) may edit their image or identities in the public sphere, introducing conflicting perspectives of not only themselves but also their own experiences. The existence of competing understandings of reality in this case thus empowers agents to use their own knowledge and life experience to question and make sense of competing accounts of individuals or said individuals’ life experiences.

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Conclusion Working with life stories provides the promise of new understandings of how we revisit and revise themes that arise when we attempt to negotiate our identities within and against popular culture. To this end, doing living biography helps us to understand how we make sense of life stories in relation to our own. By using a sociological imagination to become engaged with life stories and to think about how such stories may be helped or hindered by different social structures (Lemert 2005; Mills 1959/2000), we gain agency as critical participants in our societies. To this end, living biography can be viewed as praxis that helps to unlock our potential, allowing us to be more informed, thoughtful citizens able to critically participate in democratic society (Edmondson 2012). Going forward, one might consider how living biography might be used in other contexts to help individuals begin to locate themselves in relation to others in a world that has the appearance of being increasingly fragmented. However, one may decide to use living biography in a formal educational setting or for personal growth, working with life stories within existing social structures that often obscure the means through which individuals are oppressed, is not always an easy task. As Charles Lemert (2005) said: Social things are perfectly able to crush the human spirit. But, more often than not, the living are able to take on whatever comes down, resisting or weeping as may be necessary, to fashion lives with others, even on the meager wages of failed dreams. We get on with life, when we do, because personal courage is among the competencies given us (215).

By virtue of getting out of bed each day or, even more simply, by merely awakening every morning, we possess a built-in ability to face the world with courage, as Lemert suggests. While Lemert and Mills (among others) have referred to the difficulty in training ourselves to see the hidden facets of our societies that function to limit our possibilities or even our desire to work with each other instead of against each other, it is certainly not impossible to find ways to ascertain how we are ultimately connected somehow, whether it be through the devices of liquid modernity (Bauman 2007, 2008) or through our lived experiences as learners and educators in a world where effecting social change through education is being increasingly discouraged or even punished (Giroux 2010). By continuing to do work with life stories by connecting our own experiences to others whom we initially believe we have nothing in common with, we make a powerful statement about what it means to educate and to learn in a world of uncertainty.

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INDEX

Aarelaid-Tart, Aili 25 agency 7, 9, 23–24, 26–27, 30, 38, 70–71, 83, 91, 92, 93, 98 and Faudel 6, 41, 56, 59, 60 agent-persona relationship 23–25, 28–30, 37–38, 49–50, 56, 59– 60, 62, 81, 84, 85, 86, 90, 92, 95, 97 Åkesson, Jimmie 79–81 Alim, H. Samy 77 Althusser, Louis 7 Ålund, Aleksandra 66, 82 American Dream 33, 57, 58 Aschberg, Robert 78 Ayçiçe÷i, Ayse 54 Azif, Al 76, 77–78 Bakhtin, M. M. 7 Bauman, Zygmunt 29, 49, 57, 60, 81 Belgium 16 Belloua, Faudel see Faudel biographies 21–23, 28, 91, 95 see also living biographies Blondinbella (Isabella Löwengrip) 78 Brazil 50, 83–84 Brubaker, Rogers 10, 51 burqa bans 16 celebrity culture 47, 61–62 Cheng, Anne Anlin 40–41, 56 citizenship 2, 10–11, 11–12, 14, 15, 16, 18, 40–41, 50, 51–52, 82, 83 Coleman, Gregory 77–78 colonialism see post-colonialism crime perceptions 13, 65–66, 75–76 critical theory 94

Dendrinos, Bessie 68 dialectics and identity 18, 59, 84 Dida 71 discrimination 1, 2, 6 see also oppression France 11–13, 32, 40, 48 and post colonialism 15–16 Sweden 66–67, 69, 70, 73–74, 76–77, 79, 82 U.S.A 58 Doggelito, Dogge 78 Eakin, Paul John 93, 96–97 Eboi 71, 76 Edmondson, Jacqueline 93, 96 education see public pedagogies European Union (EU) 1, 14–16 Fanon, Frantz 55 Faudel background 38–39 Bled Memory 46–47 and identity 6, 42–55 and living biographies 59–60, 96 'Mon Pays' (My Country) 43– 46, 47, 48–49, 51, 55 and post colonialism 40–42 and public pedagogy 44, 55–58 as a research subject 32–33, 35–36 'Samra' 52–53 Fowers, Blaine 18 France see also Faudel burqa ban 16 and citizenship 10, 11–12, 14, 40 français de souche 32, 40, 45

116 Nicolas Sarkozy 11–12, 32, 46, 47–48, 50, 55, 57, 96 post-colonialism 11–12, 40–42 social conflict 32, 72–73 free schools 67 Freedom Party (Netherlands) 16 Freire, Paulo 17, 18, 92–93, 93–94 Freud, Sigmund 40–41 Front National (France) 11 GAFFA (magazine) 80, 85 Gergen, Kenneth 78–79, 95–96 Germany 16 Giddens, Anthony 27, 29, 31, 84, 92 Giroux, Henry 5, 26, 29, 30, 36, 85, 86, 94 Gleason, Jean Berko 54 globalization 29, 57, 74, 92 Gounari, Panayota 68 Green, Lucy 24 Guilherme, Manuela 26 Habermas, Jurgen 26 Harris, Catherine L. 54 Heber, Anita 65–66, 67 hip hop 62, 63, 64–71, 72–79 hope 3, 26, 56, 91–92 housing 40, 65, 66–67 Hübinette, Tobias 82, 83 Hughes, Kathryn 21 IBé 77 identity see also citizenship and Adam Tensta 6, 69–70, 71– 79, 80–81, 86–87 author's experiences 33, 50–51, 57–58, 81–84, 92–93 definition and key terms 5, 6–9 and Faudel 6, 40, 41, 42–55, 56 and language 13–15, 52–55, 67–68, 76–77 and living biographies 30–31, 59–60 national 9–10, 11, 12, 13–14, 15–16, 18

Index and sensory engagement 28, 86–87 and talk 24 immigration 1, 15–16 France 11–12, 14, 40–41 Sweden 12–13, 33–34, 64–79, 83–84 U.S.A 58 insider / outsider phenomenon 15, 44, 45, 70, 72, 81–82, 85 interpellation 7 Islam 16, 38, 54, 73 Italy 16, 50, 58 Johansson, Thomas 73 Khaled 32, 38, 39, 56 Kierans, Ciara 9 King, Rodney 73 language and identity 13–15, 52– 55, 67–68, 76–77 Lauritzen, Paul 97 Le Guin, Ursula K. 21–22 Lemert, Charles 30, 92, 98 life stories see living biographies literacy 93–94 Littleton, Karen 24 living biographies 5, 98 and ethics 94–97 and identity 30–31 implications of 85–87 process of creating 59–60 summary of 90–91 and transformation and social change 91–94 value of 21–30 Löwengrip, Isabella (Blondinbella) 78 Macedo, Donaldo P. 51, 68 Mainsah, Henry 71 Mariani, Philomena 66 Maynooth, N.U.I. 9 melancholia, concept of 40–41, 56, 58

Life Stories and Sociological Imagination Miljonprogrammet (Million Program) 65 Mills, C. Wright 5, 29, 91, 98 Montgomery, Gerald 77 multilingualism see language and identity music 24–25 see also hip hop; raï music national identity 9–10, 11, 12, 13– 14, 15–16, 18 neoliberalism 1, 15, 57, 64, 66, 67, 74, 90, 93 Netherlands 16 N-word (nigga) 63, 77 Obama, Barack 56 Olofsson, Rita 73 oppression 11, 17–18, 36, 62, 63, 69 see also discrimination Orientalism 53–54 Patton, Michael Quinn 18, 22 pedagogy of dissensus 70, 75, 81, 85 performativity 7–8 Podnieks, Elizabeth 22 positioning theory 7, 8 post-colonialism 11–12, 40–42 public pedagogies 25–28, 35–36, 69–71, 78, 79, 85, 91 raï music 32, 38–39, 46–47 rap music see hip hop researcher, role and perspectives 18–19, 22, 60, 94 residency 11 see also citizenship Richardson, Frank C. 18 right wing politics 1, 11–12, 13, 14, 16, 34, 79–80, 81 Rollyson, Carl 22, 95, 96 Romani 9–10 Russell-Brown, Katheryn 76, 77 Säfström, Carl Anders 70, 83 Sahlin, Mona 78

117

Said, Edward 53 Sami 9–10 Sarkozy, Nicolas 11–12, 32, 46, 47–48, 50, 55, 57, 96 Schade-Poulsen, Marc 38 Schierup, Carl-Ulrik 66, 82 sensory engagement 5, 8–9, 28, 86– 87 Seremetakis, C. Nadia 9 Sernhede, Ove 65, 73 Shannon, Patrick 74–75 Shantz, Jeffrey 22 sociological imagination 1, 25, 78, 85–86, 90, 91, 92, 98 Söderman, Johan 73 suburbs 65, 66–67, 72–75 Svenskundervisning för invandare (SFI) 67–68 Sweden see also Tensta, Adam ethnic Swedes and immigrants 33–34 free schools 67 perceptions of 12–13 policy on language rights 14, 67–68 social climate 64–71, 83–84 social conflict 73–75 Sweden Democrats 13, 34, 79–80, 81 Switzerland 16 Taha, Rachid 39 talk and identity 24 Taylor, Stephanie 24 Tensta, Adam and activism 79–81 background 61–64 'Dopeboy' 75 identity and public pedagogies 69–81 and living biographies 85, 86– 87, 96 and Million Program 65 'Overload' 72 as a research subject 34–36 Tigervall, Carina 82, 83

118 transformative dialogue 78–79 Turkish immigrants 16 Väkevä, Lauri 78 Wexler, Alice 97

Index Wilders, Geert 16 Willis, Paul 27 witnessing, concept of 29, 85–86, 94 women, oriental 53–54