proliferation.

a read.

There is a strong level of trust that has developed within Tunisia. A blind trust. It is the type of

trust that leaves stones unturned and roads untraveled. It is the type of trust that a mother has for

her children, sometimes refusing to chastise them for their disrespectful behavior. It is the type of

trust that keeps one oblivious to the ways of the world. Imagine what it would be like to be

nestled in a space with no reason to exit? This imagined nestled space can be quite limiting.

Within in this space, one can struggle to produce unique ideas. Additionally, voices can become

muted and sounds quickly become distorted. Navigating the space of Tunisia, I immediately

began to witness the symptoms of this problem: deafening silence. Due to my imminent

existence as a black male, I was attuned to the frequencies that contributed to the erasure of my

existence in a space like Tunisia. Regardless of my abilities to acutely listen to the mechanisms

that seek to further marginalize my identity, I often find that I am not alone in my quest towards

lifting up the voices that others might deem insignificant. My passion is to uncover the narratives

of those that have long been unheard, and labeled unworthy.

My voice was deemed to be insignificant by my peers in my high school classroom. My parents

enrolled me into Cooper City High because the high schools in my area did not have access to

adequate textbooks and technology. Although this school offered me a better education, I was

pushed around and ridiculed because of the color of my skin. Students hurled racial slurs at me

as I aimlessly walked through the hallways. I felt different. I came home one day and noticed spit

plastered on my backpack. My parents did not have the words to console me. I immediately burst

into tears. I grew speechless. I had no voice. I had no words to utter.

Navigating the traumatic space of Cooper City has given me this consciousness of those who

have been perceived as insignificant. One could easily look at the surface qualities of Tunisia and

call it so: insignificant. Tunis is the smallest country in Northern Africa. Politically, Tunis is

strategically irrelevant because it provides no oil. However, the wave of revolutions started in the

forgotten flatlands of Tunisia. How can a place that was deemed “insignificant” be the site of

something so significant and profound? It happens in the space of the unexpected. It starts with

one person. Jamila Debbech Ksiksi. While in Tunisia, our Kraft Global Fellow research team

encountered Ksiksi, member of the Assembly of the Representatives of the People in Tunisia.

Jamila is not only Tunisia’s first black parliamentarian, but also Tunisia’s first black female

parliamentarian. Even with all of these accomplishments, Madame Ksiksi is an amplifier of the

voices that society may seek to quiet.

Sitting calmly at the Columbia University Global Center with her hands pressed against one

another, Jamila was a quiet storm to be reckoned with. As a black male, I know what it means to

have the proverbial “Seat at the Table.” I began to imagine how Jamila floated seamlessly

between the halls of parliament and the districts that she serves. Placed next to these very relaxed

hands was a phone that was incased inside of tattered and worn phone case. I later discovered

through her narrative that she is quite accessible, as members of her district call her to discuss

various issues.

Jamila phone rings.

Jamila picks up her phone.

She must pick up all numbers, understanding that

it may be family member in distress

or

Another member of parliamentarian looking for advice.

She picks up her phone.

She speaks.

She listens.

Repeat.

I do not know if her colleagues are this accessible. However, from my personal experience as a

community organizer, I know why her phone case was so tattered. We bring the silenced voices

millions of voices to the table. We bring the voices of our ancestors to the table. We, knowingly

and sometime unknowingly, have created the tables that we often do not the privilege (and I use

this term lightly) to sit at. I hesitantly use the term privilege lightly because there is a beauty in

the spaces that we create for ourselves—a beauty that is found in the migrant-populated and

diverse towns in Tunisia like ‘La Marsa.’ Nestled within these communities is a safety and

familiarity that is comforting. However, even within these communities, they can be quite

limiting with regards to the change that we can effect. Jamila sat calmly at this table knowing

that she owned the table that she sat at.

Jamila brings her voice to the table. She brings her vulnerability to the table. However, even

within her position as a member of parliament, she has to explain her existence. As a black

person navigating spaces, there is a quiet sense that one must have a reason to exist within spaces

that have been dominated throughout history by white people. In some places, racism can be

“hidden.” Living in a space like Tunisia, where racism is, in the words of Jamila, “quiet,” one

must heighten the volume to prove the existence of racism that operates within the space like

Tunisia.

Jamila says that over the course of the past few years she has had to explain to Tunisia that

racism exists. Jamila having to explain racism is a feeling that I know all too well. I identify with

Jamila. Acknowledging racism means preserving one’s identity because acts of racism seek to

marginalize one’s identity, specifically race. In my life, I have always been placed in positions

where I have to explain my existence to other individuals. Racism jolts the identity of the

individual—a shaking occurs that forces one to reassess how one chooses to navigate spaces.

When there is a threat to your identity, a reclamation must occur that will insure its protection.

Essentially, when someone who has been violated by racism, there is a maintenance process that

must occur. This maintenance process is a type of cleansing process that places upkeep on how

one chooses to move forward from the insult that has just occurred on their identity.

This upkeep process is a requirement for a preservation of one’s identity. What does one do after

dealing with the insult of one’s identity ? Does one process it with someone that they trust ?

Does one internalize it ? Does one mobilize against the institutions and forces that seek to

maintain these racist ideas ? Jamila is change agent that witnessed the state of Tunisia and its

lack of laws that protect its citizens from discrimination based on race, color, origin, or ancestry.

Jamila’s colleagues brushed off her assertions that racism happens in Tunisia. Imagine, having

the be the barer of truth for an entire country? Having to be the spokesperson and presenter of

evidence for racial occurrences to a population of individuals who have not only turned a blind

eye, but also closed their hearts, ears, and minds? Jamila’s colleagues told her that she was trying

to divide the society. They remarked that she was “creating problems when there was no

problem.” They encourage her to “regulate and solve a real problem.”

There is a psychological term for what Jamila had to experience from her colleagues in

Parliament: Gaslighting. Gaslighting is a form of psychological manipulation that seeks to sow

seeds of doubt in a targeted individual or in members of a targeted group, making them question

their own memory, perception, and sanity. Gaslighting is a form of verbal abuse. A verbal abuse

that I often experience when I seek validation for the racist acts that had just occurred from my

white counterparts. Sometimes, as a black male, I gaslight myself, refusing to acknowledge the

abuse that I experience because of my race. The gaslighting of one’s self can extend from the

conditioning of constantly being doubted by the people who you seek out to affirm your

experiences.

However, it takes a special person to press forward in the face of those who seek diminish your

voice. Jamila cited four distinct scenarios that led to the Parliament towards approving

legislation that punishes all types of racial discrimination. Jamila said that she had to prove to her

colleagues that racism exists in the Tunisia. Even with the protests that happen almost every-day

in the open spaces of Tunis, or the street corners of Djerba Island, there is a quietude that

surrounds topics related to race. Tunisia is not a special case as it relates to the perceived

quietness of racism. It is only quiet for those who refuse to listen, are not accustomed to listen, or

may not know to listen. You may feel in the stares of others or the brevity in conversation. It can

even exist in the subtle questions that doubt your purpose in a space. The quietness can take

shape in the lack of acknowledgement in spaces of familiarity.

Jamila says that these attempts to undermine the realities of black individuals living in Tunisia

does not erase their presence. There are sub-Saharans in Tunisia. There are blacks in Tunisia.

Jamila says the journey to prove that the problem of racism exist began three years ago. During

these three years, she cites that there were four key events that acted as evidence to build her

case that racism exists in a seemingly “peaceful” place such as Tunisia.

The first event that Jamila cited was during the soccer game that occurred between Tunisia and

Equatorial Guinea. A questionable penalty call in the final minutes of Saturday’s game allowed

Equatorial Guinea to equalize the score and then win in extra time, provoking on-field brawls

involving coaches and players. Tunisian soccer players hurled racial slurs at the players of

Guinea.

Following the game, a “wave of hate” against sub-Saharan Africans began in the wake of the

national team’s loss to host Equatorial Guinea in the African Nations Cup. An association of

African students in Tunisia said there had been at least a dozen attacks in the capital and the

southern city of Sfax against the sub-Saharan community since the game. The head of

government and the parliament denounced the statements made by the Tunisian soccer players.

The events that occurred revealed that there is a vulnerable population that is currently under

attack within Tunisia: college students from the sub-Sahara of Africa. Official figures presented

at the Tunisian African Empowerment Forum indicated that foreign students make up 2.5% of

the total student population. Among this proportion, 74% are African students from 40 countries,

29% being from Sub-Saharan Africa. As many as 98% of foreign students in Tunisian private

universities are Africans. Ideas at this forum were erected to promote Tunisia as a desirable

destination for students from Sub-Saharan Africa because foreign student enrollment has been

waning.

It became quite evident that Sub-Saharan African students in Tunisia are a vulnerable population.

The second incident cited by Jamila, was the death of three Congolese students in Tunisia, who

were killed by knife. Jamila said that she contacted the head of government regarding this matter,

and this event “convinced” him that there is racism in Tunisia.

Violence in the realm of education against the black body exists. There is nothing more powerful

than an educated black body. This stabbing and other acts of violence against educated black

bodies reveals the deep-rooted fears of racist Tunisian people. Education has always been seen as

a means towards upwards mobility. Slaves on plantation fields in the United States of America

were not able to read. Slaves would be beaten or severely punished through the loss of fingers or,

in some cases, vision. Are the Tunisian people afraid that the sub-Saharan Africans will become

too smart ? No, this is not the case. The fear is that, these sub-Saharan Africans that exist in these

academic spaces represent anomalies to their ideas of who belongs there and why. Tunisians are

afraid because there is a perceived limited amount of spaces for those to obtain success. Within

these perceived limited amount of spaces, racist Tunisian people (subconsciously and

consciously) have been acculturated and indoctrinated by Western society to believe that there is

a certain type of person who is worthy of attaining access to success. Unfortunately, these sub-

Saharan Africans do not fit these imagined description. Hence, the concept of anomaly emerges.

A sense of discomfort arises. This perceived limited amount of space creates a sense of deadly

competition. This deadly competition can lead to extreme hatred for the educated black body

because it is seen as an obstacle during the course towards advancement. That is why three

Congolese students are dead. That is why I was afraid to navigate certain spaces within my

predominately white high school. That is why I am still afraid to navigate certain spaces within

my own university. That is why sub-Saharan African student enrollment in Tunisian universities

have been waning.

During the three years of trying to prove that racism exists in Tunisia, the fourth event that

Jamila cited involved violence against black women. Sabrina. All we know is Sabrina’s first

name. All I know is Sabrina’s first name. Sabrina was sexually harassed and the police refused to

help her. Madame Seksi was called upon to assist with getting this young woman the help that

she needed. Although Madame Seksi did everything that she could to help this woman, but there

was no law against racism in the Tunisia. Mehdi Ben Gharbia, human rights minister during the

time of the event said that “When Tunisian girl Sabrina was verbally abused on the main Habib

Bourguiba Avenue in Tunis in 2016 and went to the police to complain and she was turned back

because of the lack of specific law, [he] invited her to [his] office to apologize on behalf of the

government.” He further noted that “the process of drafting and discussing it began after

Sabrina’s incident.”

This hatred against black women is rooted in the historical objectification and viewing a black

woman’s body as a sexual object. In the same vein, the hatred for black women stems from the

fact that she is able to engender black children into the world—black children who are already

extremely vulnerable to the dangers of the world. This places black women in an unsafe space

due to the crossroads of their intersectional identity for both their race and gender. This

intersectional identity of being both black and woman expands the options for harassment

opportunities towards misogynoir and racism.

When Jamel Ksiksi, a customs agent, was beaten by a hotel worker in the summer of 2016 in the

coastal town of Mahdia, he complained to police. However, authorities said they found no legal

ground to prosecute the case as a form of racial discrimination. His relatives and friends staged a

street protest in Ksiksi’s hometown Medenine to alert authorities about the racial abuse. This

incident was heavily discussed in the media. Madame Ksiksi proceeded to say that this helped to

support the burden of evidence needed to prove the racism in Tunisia.

Jamila also cited another event that acted as a catalyst for her case against racism in Tunisia, was

the stabbing of a “young man” from the Ivory Coast. Jamila said his name in a quick whisper, so

fast, that I did not get a chance to write it down. His name is Falikou Coulibaly.

Coming from a space such as the United States of America, where protests are centered around

remembering the names of those who have been victims of racist acts of violence. I have

marched in protests where the chants are “say their name.”

The remembrance of names is very important to the preservation of the essence of the life and

death of the individual who died to an act of violence. Power is stripped away from this young

man when he simply referred to as “young man.” The erasure of existence occurs. It is the same

stress that I feel when a teacher confuses with me another black student in the classroom. The

erasure becomes evident, as I had to complete extensive research to figure this young man’s

name. His name is Falikou Coulibaly. Jamila said his name, but in whisper. Why was his name

such a secret ? Lorena Lando, Chef de Mission of the Organization Internationale pour le

migrations (OIM), did not say his name at all, almost as if she had forgotten his name. There was

a synchronicity in the way Jamila and the OIM reported the events that occurred. Neither of them

wanted to take a stance to confirm or deny that race was the motivating factor in this “young

man’s” death. Both Jamila and the OIM were proud to report that Tunisia did everything possible

to transfer the “young man’s” body back to the Ivory Coast.

Falikou Coulibaly was stabbed 22 times for what seemed to be a robbery for his cellular device.

He died immediately in the hospital. What Jamila did not mention to us, we later uncovered at

the International Organization for Migration (OIM) that he was very active and well known

within his community. Falikou actually worked closely with OIM, attended youth conferences,

and handled paperwork for many members in his community. Lando from the OIM said that

maybe he had very private information on his phone. The Ivory Coast community in Tunisia and

abroad felt the ripples of his death. Jamila maintains that this is not representative of Tunisia, but

says that “it happens.” Representatives from the OIM share that the overall response from the

Tunisian community, as witnessed via Facebook, where shocked and disheartened by the death

of this “young man.”

When Jamila’s colleagues in Parliament asked her if this was an act of racism or a standard

Tunisian criminal act, she noted that the Ivory Coast community is an easy community to target

because they are a part of the migrant population. What makes them a clear target is that if any

act of violence is completed against them, they cannot report them because their presence is

deemed “illegal.” Rather than clearly defining the case for her colleagues, Jamila aptly

encouraged them to do the work to solve both the migrant and racial issues in Tunisia. At this

current moment, there is a wide ranging support from multiple ministries regarding this matter

such as the Ministry of Interior, Ministry of Health, Ministry of Transport, and Ministry of

Human Rights.

Jamila desires for there to be more Tunisians that are not always represented in Government to

be in Parliament. She wants more diversity amongst the members of parliament because they

will also be in the position to make decisions. Understandably, she is the first black to be deputy

and she certainly does not want to be the last.

After a large consultation with Civil Society for 1 year, Parliament, and the executive wing on

October 9,2018, the constitution was revised to insure that the law protected individuals from

racism and criminalized those who engaged in acts of racism. Currently, Jamila says that much

work needs to be done to make sure that there the law retains its functionality within the

everyday lives of the Tunisian people. The steps needed to make sure that these laws are enacted

require commitment from the policy and the army, National Communication Commission.

According to Article 2 of the law, racial discrimination is defined as "any distinction, exclusion,

restriction or preference based on race, color, origin or ancestry or any other form of racial

discrimination permitted by international standards." The most serious punishment included in

the legislation, which ranges from one to three years in prison, corresponds to acts of incitement

to hatred, violence or segregation on racial grounds, as well as membership or support to

organizations with a racist ideology. As for insults or derogatory comments, the most common

aggression will be punished with between one month and one year in prison and a fine of

between 500 and 1,000 dinars (between 155 and 310 euros).

There is racism in Tunisia, but its “silent,” Jamila says. There are groups in Tunisia who have a

culture of racism and embed their racist rhetoric into their campaigns. The growth occurs when

we make the conscious decision to exhume the narratives of those that society has deemed to be

unfit and unworthy. When we choose to open our hearts and minds to accept the depths of all

humanity, the necessary change will begin to occur. Rather than turning a blind eye, we must

open our eyes.