"The Nardal Sisters, the forgotten of Negritude" or an alternative vision of activism
I’m a Black, Afrocaribbean, Guadeloupean and French woman. This is how I defined myself while developing Karukerament. My journey to this definition started as soon as I entered school and had a major turning point in 2016 when I started following the French Afrofeminist sphere. In this pre-Musk Twitter era, this community was reclaiming the power of narrative in the face of violent and dismissive online attacks led mostly by Black men. In this struggle to assert their humanity and right to exist, these Afrofeminists advocated the importance of sisterhood and transmission. They brought back to light the militancy of French Black women. Thanks to them, I learned about the existence of the Coordination of Black Women founded in the 70s. Thanks to them, I learned about the existence of the Nardal sisters. Information on them usually focused on two facts: their literary salon where the theorists of Negritude used to meet and the “Revue du Monde Noir” (The Review of the Black World) co-founded by the Nardal sisters. However, beyond this militant image, where did these women come from and what did they become after the 1930s? No one really talked about it. It was as if these women were only interesting in and through their militant image.
Broadcast for the first time on France Television on March 12th 2023, “The Nardal sisters, the forgotten of Negritude” brings some answers. Created by Léa Mormin-Chauvac and Marie-Christine Gambart, this documentary retraces in 52 minutes the life of these sisters, mainly that of Paulette. My goal here isn’t to tell you about this delicate and well-constructed documentary whose replay is available here. I prefer to share with you my thoughts on the representation of French Black activism in the 20th century.
The importance of telling your story
The first few seconds connect us to Paulette Nardal through her voice recorded on tape during a series of interviews in 1974-1975. Philippe Gollurmund's emotion when he listens to Paulette Nardal's voice again is all the more understandable since the medium symbolizes an era that is long gone today. I had a flashback of my 7 or 8-year-old self recording my first Podcast on my Fisher price radio-K7. Obviously, I didn't know I was doing a podcast at the time. In my head, I was imitating what I heard on the radio that punctuated my days in Guadeloupe. Audio frees the imagination without any interference while guiding the listener... Hearing Paulette Nardal's voice creates a feeling of closeness that the image, even animated, cannot reproduce in my opinion because it gives another dimension to her emotions. What would have happened if Philippe Grollemund hadn’t made, kept, and decided to share these recordings? Perhaps Paulette Nardal would have found another way to tell her story? Maybe not? In any case, technology now allows us to no longer wait on the validation of an intermediary who considers our story important. To tell our story, in oral or written form, is to take control of the story of our lives and prevent a rewriting of history... or at least have the receipts ready the day this history is questioned. Like it is right now.
Although the title of the documentary evokes "the Nardal sisters", the relationships between the sisters nor their individual paths are explored. Probably because there were fewer direct sources and this wasn’t the approach the creators wanted. This lack of discourse on Paulette de Nardal the woman further underlines our difficulty in developing representations of Black women outside of this maternal/potomitan role even in activism where vulnerability has no place.
The importance of building a community
No one is surprised that men haven’t made space for women in the history of Negritude. In fact, in my personal opinion, I don't think this was deliberate but rather a shift to the status quo because the Nardal sisters didn't fit their codes or their political agenda. The differences in perspectives fueled by the differences in their life experiences were the richness of the Nardal sisters' inclusive approach to creating a culturally sensitive space.
Their strategy of converging the arts and disseminating these analyses on an international level would have encouraged the expression of a francophone Caribbean identity that is still difficult to claim today. Their bourgeois upbringing allowed them to develop the sensitivity to navigate between artistic fields. And it’s clearly their Martinican origin that gave them this openness and this capacity to link other Black cultures without trying to hierarchize them. I find it fascinating that they thought of the Black community on a global scale in its diversity at a time when the African states hadn’t yet regained their independence. They affirmed their Martinican culture while celebrating African American and African cultures, without setting themselves apart by saying "I’m nothing because I come from a small island”. Some of the conversations I have had or heard since the launch of Karukerament in 2019 seem all the more lunar when I see the path that the Nardal sisters had opened up for us... Why the disbelief when I suggest promoting ourselves on the international market? Why this resistance to translation into English? Why minimize ourselves and accuse other Caribbean countries of excluding us when Guadeloupe and Martinique have contributed to the artistic and intellectual influence of the Caribbean since the beginning of the 20th century?
I must admit that I’m still struggling to untangle those mental chains that the Nardal sisters no longer possessed at the beginning of the 20th century, but which are still quite tenacious in this first half of the 21st century. Fortunately, there are still some diehards. Pierre-Edouard Décimus' speech in "Le zouk et la prière des oiseaux" is directly in line with their vision. To put one's identity at the heart of one's art in order to walk towards a better world and to behave with the dignity that is due when one has this ambition. He has taken the idea of community a step further by integrating the non-elite audience. Perhaps this is what was missing from the Nardal sisters' vision. That the 200 million Black people around the world should walk with their heads held high is a noble goal, but the Review of the Black World was aimed at intellectuals and not directly at the people. Although there were only 6 issues, displaying simultaneous texts in French and English, collaborating with academics and / or artists directly involved with the issues they talked about, there is no more modern as an example of globalization in terms of cultural production. Since 2016, I have been observing initiatives from my generation to create these similar spaces. Be it through traditional and/or online magazines, podcasts, collectives, but the majority has disappeared today. Either for lack of resources or lack of vision... In any case, this intention to highlight exclusively "the Black world" in its plurality isn’t the editorial line that the initiatives still in existence choose today. Perhaps in the 21st century, in a globalized society where ideas circulate without physical constraint, this seems "reductive" OR too vast? Perhaps the second half of the 20th century was so politically turbulent that there was neither the space nor the time to sit down and rethink the cultural, political and artistic relationships between Black communities. I am not talking about pan-Africanism. I agree that this movement was born in the Caribbean at the end of the 19th century, but what’s the political vision to ensure the well-being of each member of these communities today? What inclusive worldview do these intellectuals propose today? Who gets to be celebrated in today's Pan-Africanism and why? That's what I care about.
Anyway, the Nardal sisters have brought together a community of artists from all walks of life and of different nationalities. Today's technology would have allowed them to fully exploit this concept which, if not mainstream, would have had the merit of creating an archive and inspiring those capable of changing society.
The importance of being yourself
The documentary highlights the paradox that the Nardal sisters represented until the end of their studies. A privileged minority, educated in the school of the Republic, with conservative and religious values, and yet they developed a critical mind about their condition as human beings, about their condition as women in an oppressive system. And this didn’t stop them from recognizing the oppressions suffered by others or from using their skills to help the community.
After her student years, Paulette Nardal could have started a family. After the fathers of Negritude severed ties with her, she could have been consumed by the bitterness of being erased. Instead, according to the documentary, she kept finding other ways to contribute to Martinique. What fueled her determination throughout the years? Did she have political ambitions? Was it simply the desire to pass on and help the people around her to find serenity in a suffering society? In any case, her activism didn’t begin or end with street demonstrations or media clashes with institutions. In the story of the Nardal sisters, we get a glimpse of what it means to fulfill one's life mission. The documentary paints a portrait of Martinican women who, without a political mandate, despite their "privileges", invest themselves in collective life. Each person has the power to act on an individual level. Each person is free to use it or not.
A legacy to be proud of
I’d say that there are 3 or even 4 generations between Paulette Nardal and me. My student self would surely have been comforted to know that one of the first Black women at the Sorbonne * had imposed her dissertation topic (I compromised), that she had experienced daily microaggressions (I thought it was all in my head and my fault), and that she had overcome all of that without giving up her identity (10 years of wandering to get my act together).
With the adult Paulette Nardal, I have an example of a fulfilling life for a never-married, childfree woman. That doesn't mean she never knew romantic love, but her life choices seemed to be her own indeed and she has made deep connections with those around her to the point where some are fighting to get her into the Pantheon (French Hall of Fame)... Why not? In terms of recognition, I think that a woman like her and all our historical female figures want above all that we honor them by finding our definition of happiness. I’m proud to put the Nardal sisters in my own Pantheon.
Further thinking
The more it goes on, the more I think that our women intellectuals have a hard time being recognized for what they are because they disturb the narrative of the struggles for the dignity of the Black man, for the celebration of the cultures carried by the Black man. From what the documentary shows, Paulette Nardal really invested her time in the community and went against the stereotype of the "aristocratic" bourgeois woman. Rather than talking about the forgotten ones of Negritude, I now see the Nardal sisters more as the pioneers of Caribbeanity.
The documentary shares anecdotes in which the fathers of Négritude acknowledge the influence of Paulette Nardal. Reflected in the anti-colonialist struggles from the middle of the 20th century, this artistic movement placed the Black (African) man at the center. From negritude came antillanity, then creolity (creolness?), diversality, all concepts theorized by men in the second half of the 20th century whose social or even societal translation I have yet to grasp. Until now, I thought it was because of my laziness to find the texts that would explain it to me or because of my lack of intelligence. Since watching this documentary, I think it’s because I see these concepts as fragmented, reductive and exclusive instead of cementing, federating and including as the Nardal sisters and other women have demonstrated in their actions. The way I've understood these concepts up until now (perhaps wrongly, do let me know if so) has always been in a representation of the world where the Black man (and I'm purposely keeping it masculine) seeks to define himself in opposition, by "I'm neither this nor that" or by "I'm a mix, I'm the fruit of miscegenation, I'm indefinable".
Whether it’s in an approach by the history, the exteriority, the interiority, I do not see how these concepts answer to a Caribbeanity integrating the shared experiences of the other Caribbean communities, regardless of their language. And I use the term Caribbeanity in the sense of Caribbean identity. Despite the advances of Caribbean studies, "Caribbeanity" has not (yet?) entered the academic world and is relatively little used, so I have no alternative definition to offer. But, in my opinion, it’s the most inclusive term right now because I see it as an agglutinative system. Yes, I recognize that cultures mix, and constantly evolve in a more or less channeled chaos, but the power dynamics don’t change for now and there are permanent cultural and historical bases from which traditions are transmitted. The word “Antillean/Caribbean” shouldn’t be a substitute for "Black". Claiming miscegenation shouldn’t be a pretext for ignoring racial discrimination (in the sense of race as a social construct). Today, terms like "Afrocaribbean", "Indocaribbean", "Sinocaribbean", "Korean-Caribbean" etc. express this plurality of origins that have planted their new roots. But maybe one day we will go further. No, I do not envisage a Glissant's All-World because I can’t conceptualize a world with no power dynamics. What will they be? I don't have the answer. In any case, I can have the whole world inside me because of circumstances for which I am not responsible, but as long as I have to continue to make choices between these plural origins, how can I live in serenity and in full freedom? Perhaps when the discriminations have disappeared then the word "Caribbean" will be fully accepted, or another will emerge, to describe this harmonization in an inner plurality that no one other than Caribbean people experiences.