In my young adult years in France, I could see that there was tension between the Caribbean community and the African community, but I didn’t know why. I’m familiar with the discourse of a so-called superiority complex based on either having French nationality or knowing one's roots. However, given the oppressive system in which we live, I had always found superficial this argument of jealousy expressed on both sides... But it was ultimately understandable from the point of view of the generations of young people from the 60’s to the 80’s. A film such as “Ô Madiana” (1979) by Constant Grand-Dubois portrays the questioning of identity that West Indian people in their thirties go through at that time. Maryse Condé’s novels up until the 2000s reflect the wanderings of these generations of our grandparents and even older to find their place in a world that denies their culture, their history, and simply their existence. The relationship to Africa in the literature of Maryse Condé always highlights the misunderstandings, the inconsistencies in the perception that both communities have of each other.

I grew up in Guadeloupe, so I got to know Afro-French people of my generation only when I moved to Paris right before I turned 20. Afro-French as in Caribbean people and African people born in France, with French nationality and having only known life in France. The proximity and their common experiences have conditioned an undeniable connection, I’d even say (circumstantial) solidarity, but the ignorance of their history remains. I have experienced first-hand the lack of unity within groups advocating pan-Africanism when it comes to addressing a situation from the French Caribbean perspective. My most recent example is how Afro-French people invisibilize contemporary French Caribbean zouk but claim zouk as part of their culture as their expertise stops at their teenage memories of the 2000s. And this is exactly the starting point of “Yafa, the forgiveness*”.

I don’t mean zouk is the starting point, of course. No, the starting point is this certainty of knowing each other’s history when we’re actually ignorant. The hidden historical facts, the great Black characters erased or transformed, the identity and culture construction... This is the thread of the ongoing dialogue between Demba (Sidiki Bakaba) and Lucien (Luc Saint-Eloy). The migrant and the policeman. Africa and the West Indies. A whole night discussing this past that affects their present but shouldn’t determine their future. Archive footage supports this exchange that is difficult to hear for Lucien, but also for the uninformed viewer. Some of the lines will make the uninformed viewer jump, as Lucien does when Demba's comments on his alienation make him uncomfortable.

This awakening, this awareness is meticulously constructed in a mirror perspective. Beyond the story of Lucien and Demba bound in a dominator/dominated relationship that becomes balanced as time goes by, Christian Lara denounces the racism that both communities suffer. From the attitudes to the words, through the actors' gazes, he deconstructs the prejudices conveyed to maintain this separation within our society. These prejudices distract from the real issue: how can we all live decently in an oppressive system? The most idealistic would go so far as to say: how can we all (oppressed and oppressors alike) mentally free ourselves from this oppressive system?

Christian Lara doesn’t offer a miracle solution. However, he does point out the process: discussion. In his approach, the first step is knowledge, sharing it so that Yafa can be asked for and granted in order to move forward.

Frankly, I don't think there is forgiveness to be asked for or to grant. I think it's all about acknowledging the facts, accepting what happened and seeing the other person as a whole person. By the way, sorry for the spoiler, but I was particularly moved that Demba clearly names Lucien's belonging to the Caribbean and lets go of the term West Indies (Antilles).

We aren’t responsible for the actions of previous generations, but we make a conscious choice every day: do we maintain this gap or do we build common ground on our own terms in order to rise together? I’ve been experiencing this personally since 2016. I interact with a young woman who is as passionate as I am about issues of Black representation. Every day we see the similarities in our experiences in our family, friendship, love and professional circles. She, a Cameroonian woman in Africa and I, a Guadeloupean woman in Europe... Each of us listens to what the other says to get this intellectual wealth based on mutual respect and support.

With this new “memory fiction” format (20% archives footage, 80% fictional footage), “Yafa” doesn’t mean to entertain us. It tells our story with a contemporary and pedagogical vision about identity issues from the point of view of French-speaking Africans and Caribbean people. It names the executioners and the victims. It guides us to take a critical look at ourselves. It encourages us to recover our dignity. It invites us to keep hope in order to build the united world we have been dreaming of.

“Yafa, le pardon” : “Yafa, the forgiveness”. Yafa means forgiveness in bambara.

"Yafa, le pardon" by Christian Lara