#Maghreb
Tumblr posts tagged #Maghreb from across Tumblr — no login required.
“𝖿𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗁 𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗂𝖼” 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗌 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾? One day, I went to Tunisia, my country of origin. My cousin told me that she could tell the difference on the street between Tunisians and those she called “𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚌”. But first of all, what is a 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚌? According to Charlie Hebdo, they are “descendants of immigrants on vacation back home, accused of various acts of disorderly conduct.” Indeed, a “𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚌” is someone who lives in France and is generally from the second or third wave of immigration. In recent years, they have been looked down upon by many communities: first, by the Maghrebi community, which accuses them of having a superiority complex, but also more recently by French immigrants in Thailand who hate the 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚌 (as explained by the Instagram account yayo.yang_.). But where does this expression come from? It was first popularized on social media to distinguish French people of Maghrebi origin from “real Arabs.” A Tunisian woman with French citizenship who has lived her entire life in France is not viewed in the same way as a Tunisian woman who has lived her whole life in Tunisia. Often, there is even a gap between these two “identities.” Why? The children of immigrants have grown up immersed in two cultures: French and North African. Some understand Arabic but don’t speak it. Some people are going through a real identity crisis that shouldn’t be taken lightly. I, too, have gone through this identity crisis: never quite finding my place, being too Arab in France but too French in Tunisia. Having to learn Arabic on my own just to communicate with my family wasn’t easy either. In France, we’re reminded of our Arab identity, and back home, of our French identity. And yet, this is also the case for North Africans living in France. Indeed, they are considered “bledards” who must adhere to certain social codes: the women are Muslim, discreet, and without any deviation, and the men are macho, smokers. “Do you like “les gens du bled”?” is something I’ve heard people in my community say to me in France. What’s more, everything seems to set these two groups apart: French-Arab men often have long, curly hair, wear a “Lacoste” tracksuit, carry a Gucci bag and cap, while the women stand out for their tans, long hair, makeup, and a style of dress considered too revealing for people from the Maghreb. The “Arabs” of the country, on the other hand, have a crew cut (Iraqi-style in 2011), slim-fit jeans, and the girls must fit the stereotype: veiled and discreet. They each perceive the other group with a certain cynicism. On one hand, “they have no manners, they’re too French,” and on the other, “people from the ‘bled’ are different.” Each group believes it embodies the “right version”: back in the “bled,” they’re too backward; in Europe, they’ve lost our values. And yet… What really sets us apart? Are we really forced to divide ourselves just because one of us was born in a different country than the other? Of course, we can’t deny that our experiences differ: there are things we might not understand simply because of the language barrier, for example. But, precisely, we are not different: there are no “real” Arabs or “fake” Arabs. It is simply a difference in socialization. A person who grows up in France does not have the same social norms, the same relationship with family, or the same relationship with language. And when they arrive in their country of origin, they may feel different from the rest of the population. But despite these differences in socialization, they remain North African, Arab, or Berber—it doesn’t matter. And Pierre Bourdieu, a French sociologist, explains it very well: both sides of the community have internalized what he calls a “ habitus ,” the set of predispositions that an individual acquires throughout their life. Consequently, habit is manifested in ways of speaking, thinking, walking, acting, and perceiving that we have internalized without realizing it. And we are not socialized in the same way; there is a “Maghrebi habitus” and a “French habitus,” which can create a clash between these two habitus. We judge others because we consider our own habitus to be normal and that of others to be incorrect, inferior, or different. Each of us has our own social world. And our habitus influences our tastes and cultural preferences: when we see French North Africans wearing Gucci caps, it is because that is the norm within that particular community in France. So, I’ll conclude that the term “hybrid identity” is useless. In fact, it pigeonholes people when, in reality, it’s much more complex than that. And in reality, I’ll correct myself. It’s not a hybrid identity, a dual identity, but 𝗎𝗇𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗍é 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗊𝗎𝖾 𝖾𝗍 à 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗍 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂è𝗋𝖾.
Close-up on the minaret of the Hassan II Mosque, a monumental masterpiece built between 1986 and 1993, designed by architect Michel Pinseau. Located along the Atlantic coastline, in the Sidi Abderrahmane district of Casablanca, the mosque stands at the edge of land and sea, where architecture meets the horizon. A bold statement of spiritual power and Moroccan craftsmanship, grounded in tradition yet looking firmly toward the future. 📸 Photograph taken in 2025.
About the #Maghreb tag
What is the #Maghreb tag on Tumblr?
#Maghreb is a Tumblr tag people add to their posts so others can find related content. This page collects public posts tagged #Maghreb from blogs across Tumblr so you can browse them in one place.
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