Lost in Translation

Today, Juneteenth commemorates African American freedom and emphasizes education and achievement. It is the oldest nationally celebrated commemoration of the ending of slavery in the United States. On this day, this week, and in some areas, this month, there will be celebrations of family gatherings, picnics, or events with guest speakers.

The celebration originated in Galveston, Texas in 1865. Since then, the observance of June 19th as the African American Emancipation Day has spread across the United States and beyond. It is even celebrated in France by the many expatriates living abroad as a way of connecting with their American heritage. But like most anything, the celebration looses something in the translation. Sometimes that ‘’something’’ is charming, and sometimes, well, unintentionally hilarious.

A few years back I attended a Junteenth event at the American Church on the left bank in Paris, France. The church is a place where many American families get together in an effort to find comfort in a very foreign city. And in recent years, many French people began attending the event in order to learn more about Junteenth and the members of the African American community who lived there.

The audience of attendees where from all over the world, and the participants who were not American were predominantly African or Arab youth who loved Hip-Hop music. While many did not speak English, they still loved the energy they found in rap music. Everyone was encouraged to participate and many of the speakers came from the American Civil Rights movement and either lived in Paris, or came specifically for this event.

The atmosphere was generally conservative as the church was located in a high-rent district with many wealthy patrons in attendance. The theme for this day was ‘’Tolerance’’ and many of the elder members were happy to let the ‘’young’’ people have a moment for the American music they loved.

I marveled at the eloquent speeches made and the passion their stories stirred in the audience. The number of young African and Arab teenagers who were there to participate also touched me. I spoke to two girls; both dressed in colorful clothing, who were about to perform a dance number for the standing-room-only crowd. Neither spoke a word of English, but they were so excited about dancing to American rap. I asked them what song they had selected for the performance. It was a song I hadn’t heard. But the title, which included many expletives and a couple of derogatory terms for women, didn’t seem to fit the agenda.

I put the CD in the player and listened to the lyrics. Both girls began moving their bodies to the rhythm and smiling at one another until they saw the horrified look on my face. ‘’What’s wrong?’’ one of the girls asked. ‘’Do you have any idea what these lyrics are?’’ I said. They didn’t. So, I explained, much to their horror that the words were anything but ‘’uplifting,’’ particularly for women and men of conscious. They stood there, ashen. I quickly explained that this was called ‘’Gansta Rap’’ and that it was a depiction of a certain type of inner city expression in my country. ‘’We can’t dance to this in this church!’’ they both said in unison, and riffled through their bags for another disc. A woman standing in the doorway motioned me to return to my seat. It was time for the next performers to go onstage.

I made my way back to the middle aisle and sat frozen waiting for those two lovely girls to take their place on the stage. The last speaker introduced the sisters who walked out in their brightly colored outfits. They stood center stage, facing each other waiting for the music to begin. My stomach knotted as the lights slowly dimmed. Then the music started ‘’I got sunshine, on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside, I got the month of May.’’ The Temptations belted out ‘’My Girl’’ while the girls did their best hip-hop moves. The audience scratched their collective heads at the choice of music, but ultimately thought it was ‘’cute.’’ I, on the other hand, thought it hilarious. At the end of the performance, the baffled crowd gave them a standing ovation, and I went back to their dressing room to give them both a hug.

As I was leaving, I noticed that one of the girls had a book in her purse about ‘’Junteenth’’ that was written in French. I asked them if they were going to be performing here next year. Yes, they were. So, we took a Metro to the nearest bookshop to get a couple of French language books on the history of Rap in America.