In four days, I logged 35 miles on foot “flaneuse-ing” in Paris. I learned to speak and think of Paris’s urban space in terms of “arrondissements,” the districts within the Périphérique that spiral outward from the intra muro, jumping across La Seine back and forth. Simon Kuper’s Impossible City kept me informed not only of where I was, but more importantly, as a mental map of co-living with the past. The past, Kuper notes, is “the population of ghosts who walk by the sides of us current Parisians, and who passed on the city that we are briefly allowed to inhabit.”
The center of Paris today still predominantly sits on its nineteenth-century urban spatial design by Georges-Eugène Haussmann (known as Baron Haussmann, 1809-1891), whom Emperor Napoleon III appointed to carry out a massive urban renewal program of new boulevards, parks, and public works. All buildings, mostly consisting of a facade and an inner courtyard separated from the street noises, are capped at six floors, and diagonal streets intersect with each other. The annexation of the suburban areas doesn’t distribute the political, intellectual, and economic power from the city center—also the center of the entire France—but concentrates power to the elite that inhabits the center even more.
Kuper’s observation of Paris spans from the early 2000s to the present, from the simultaneous perspectives of an English expat, a new immigrant, a parent of three, a neighborhood resident, and a journalist. It offers a useful guide to Paris’s contemporary spatialized tensions around the social caste between the Périphérique, the habitat of a tiny elite self-reproducing in the same colleges and governmental institutions, and the banlieues (suburbs), home to immigrants, the working class, and increasingly, the bobos (bohemian bourgeois) who formed an earlier wave of gentrifying the Périph. These tensions spread into every possible corner of the greater Paris, from immigrants to multiculturalism (through football), terrorism, affordable housing, gentrification, transportation, the rivalry with London, the marriage of politics and intellectualism (in the left bank), and no less stunning, the attitude towards sex.
Paris’s long-term rivalry of cosmopolitanism with London, including the bitter loss of the 2012 summer Olympics bidding, had a plot twist after Brexit. Brexit strikes the key of nationalism, the identity binarism of “us” versus “them” that ignores the plurality of identities one embodies. In Kuper’s case, biographically, he was “a British citizen, born at Mengo hospital in Kampala, emigrated as a baby, now living in France”—a case well-understood by Ugandan ambassadors—and by profession, “a citizen of nowhere, a Dutch football fan, a South African cricket fan.”
When London closed the door behind him, the expat and journalist was already a part of the neighborhood multiculturalism crossing between the Périph and the banlieues, through the multiracial moments of children’s football and also through the horror of terrorist attacks that spurred Islamophobia. On the night of the Bataclan attack that killed 130 lives, Parisians came to stand together outside the bombed concert hall condemning terrorism, but also in what Kuper saw as an “almost miraculous spectacle,” they were involved in conversations. “A group of Orthodox Jewish men in skullcaps was chatting with two bearded Muslims about kosher food and chapters in the Koran.” As an immigrant and adult, the grassroots multiculturalism in Paris is an object of observation that leads to a learned adaptation. But for Kuper’s children, that is just how ordinary Parisians live; how they live, as French children, regardless of their parents’ or grandparents’ complex origins.
The racial bias against people/immigrants of color also unambiguously penetrates the banlieues where playing football on the street is a greater interest and priority than sitting in a classroom. Kylian Mbappé was one of those young players scouted by football franchises. A child to a Cameroonian father and an Algerian mother, Mbappé was raised in Bondy, a northeastern banlieu “built on a forest where highwaymen used to lie in wait for stagecoaches leaving Paris.” Unsurprisingly, many years of racially coded distrust of Black (and Muslim) players on the French national team would go by before the nation and Les Bleus began to reconcile. And a couple more years until Les Bleus beat Croatia 4-2 in the Moscow World Cup and chanted “Vive la France! Vive la Republique!” to the entire nation.
Slow as changes may seem, they are happening. As the Périph becomes more bike-friendly, the banlieues build more metro lines and stations to be more interconnected. The infamous sexual libertarianism and pedaphilia of les “soixante-huitards (‘sixty-eighters’)” elite, revolutionary intellectuals who shook Europe and the world in 1968, are finally getting checked, if still insufficiently, by the ordinaries’ solidarity around the #MeToo movement that landed in Paris in 2020. The elite proves to be not as invincible as they look or used to be. Looking beyond the painful bureaucracy, corruption, and mannerism of Paris, Kuper sees, and hopes his readers can see with him, the hopes of change in the everyday—at children’s birthday parties, on football courts at suburban schools, in cafés, as well as at the big and small essentially Parisian protests on the wide boulevards.