In the midst of the migrant crisis in Europe, I have begun to question what type of “foreigner” I really am. I have never travelled to Europe before and so I really had no idea what to expect. I thought my knowledge of traveling to the African continent would help me understand European cities, but being worldly does not necessarily save one from the most visible identities. As a black Muslim woman, I feel marginalized wherever I go. Somehow, when I travelled to Venice, I did not think the the same type of otherness would follow me here. That is not the case. Within days, I was educated on Italy’s complex relationship with migrants without even brushing up on any Italian politics. It seemed that being “other” was almost undefinable for me, but concrete for natives here.
I have been asked to show identification at the Venice Biennale once since I have arrived. I exited the Biennale around closing after a long day appreciating all of the national pavilions. Nonchalantly, Italian police officers asked if I had an “identity card” which I would assume is a version of a passport or identification card. At first, they began to speak Italian and I could not understand them. Once I explained I did not speak Italian in a very distinct American accent, I noticed their demeanor changed. Suddenly, I had the words American plastered on my forehead and acted as a shield. It was quite ironic because I remember growing up in a predominantly low-income immigrant community where most parents do not speak English. I remember being the butt of jokes because of having a nasally American voice, what other’s perceived as “white.” It was the perfect English and the American accent that I think saved and allowed me to bypass the situation without any harm.
In those moments, I wanted desperately to say to the officer that this is was profiling and I do not deserve this treatment. Once again I realized I did not have the privilege to act. I had to accept what was happening at face value without any type of emotion. This passiveness saved me from possibly being taken away or even worse. I would not be surprised that someone reading this would be shocked. As for me, this has happened multiple times wherever I go and I have learned to never allow it to affect me. If I did allow every time I have felt glances or have felt as though I am the “other” I would not be able to enjoy this program as much as I am now. I truly have become to see Venice as a long lost friend, in which we have both have forgotten our basic gestures and other unique acts. A friend in which I can return to and the timeless disfunction of dead-end streets would be all too familiar.
I believe that art transcends what happens at the Biennale to what occurs in everyday lives. The police officers saw me as the enemy, not as human and that in and of itself is the very thing Vive Arte Vive is battling against. Greenlight was supposed to raise awareness for those who were in need of education and not paranoia for those who wished people saw their humanity. Many other installations were supposed to bring light to the issue of “otherness” rather than perpetuating the very problem it is addressing. Of course, art only has so much power, and I did not expect people to be instantly impacted, but rather a gradual change in the way the audience views the world. However, I did expect for the walls of the Biennale to be a type of sanctuary where people of different backgrounds could experience art. Instead, the Biennale, for me, became the Garden of Eden with its beauty, but outside the rest of the world had not changed.
Indeed, as I reflect on my time in Venice, I am satisfied to know that my own hopeful ignorance was proven wrong. I have always identified as beyond the norm and in that vain I am more than content with who I am. My time in Venice so far has been one long revelation where I have been proven wrong about my preconceived notions of the Biennale. I believed that this part of the world was almost untouchable and reach great lengths. In fact, the Biennale is penetrable and incomplete. The Biennale is intertwined with the way I feel about Venice and the many varying experiences I have had here.
Thank you for posting this, Hibo. It was interesting to read, having also just written a post about what it’s like to be an American in Venice.
I’m realizing that the title of my post, “What it’s like to be an American in Venice,” is problematic because it’s not like there is just one American identity… And my experiences here have the potential to be very different from yours. For instance, it’s strange that you were asked to to show your passport upon exiting and not just entering.
Venice is a meeting point for people from all over the world, but that definitely does not mean it is some multicultural, utopic melting pot.
I believe that by viewing art we can gain a different perception of the world. But maybe this is the problem with Green Light–it depicts refugees as a type of “other.” Yes, Eliasson provides refugees with a job and education, and that’s great. But Green Light does nothing to show the humanity (as you say) of these people. And that’s exactly what people today need to start seeing.
Thank you for your response, Lizzy! You’re right it was strange that I was asked to show my passport upon exiting rather than entering. And I agree with what your thoughts about Greenlight.
ABDIH2,
I was moved by what you wrote. I am glad that your are content with who you are. It must be tough representing things all the time, but you are representing the good things about the United States, surprising those two police officers. Thank you for representing our country well, at a time when we need that most.
As a teacher I shall take this moment to be didactic. An identity card is a type of passport. It is used, I would think, by all Europeans for travel within their own country. Even high school children have one. The fact Americans do not carry an identity card on them at all times shocked some of my classmates in Belgium. If you were to fall down dead who would know your name and your address? (This in fact happened to a “new girl” at an American school where I taught, though she lived after falling down a long flight of stairs.) Yea, so photo, date of birth, street address, at least are on this card stock. An identity card can be used to control a population, effectively or harshly as one’s view changes. While traveling in Germany, we passengers were stopped when the train stopped. Policemen came aboard–in the middle of nowhere–looked at identity papers, and hauled a young man off the train for what felt like an hour. When he returned and the train was rolling along again, he told me that he had once participated in a [political] demonstration, had his photo taken amongst the crowd, and been identified. Ever since he has been flying above not below radar. On the other hand, we Americans fight this Big Brother-ness, in that have no national identity card, no I.D. required when voting (except this morning in Missouri), and our social security number was promised not to be used to identify us, except now professors announce grades by student ID numbers, which at some universities are social security numbers. My two lira.
I liked your blog very much and plan on recommending it to a friend.
(Polly LYNN)
Thank you so much, Ms. Lynn, for your response! I wrote this piece not with the intention to move anyone, but rather just an outlet for my experiences. I am glad that my writing has proved to be didactic for you and I look forward to what your friend has to say about my post!
Hibo, I’m really glad I came upon your article. I’ve been having similar sentiments. I too didn’t think that the same type of “otherness” would follow me to europe. (Also, I think that is such a great way of describing the feeling). Your article really helped me think about things in the back of my mind, like what does “American” mean domestically or abroad, and how does the meaning of “American” change depending on the people you are talking to. I’ve had a similar experience, where the label “American” seems to get me out of a situation, but other times it seems to label me as ignorant and touristy.
I really appreciate your article. While exploring cologne, there have been a lot of times where I couldn’t shake off the thought that almost every person I pass by is white and blue eyed. The way you describe the sensation (feeling “glances”, and feeling as the “other”) encompasses the feeling of walking down Cologne.
I also wanted to add that I thought it was interesting the way you talked about art, that art can’t be expected to instantly impact people. I want to hear more about your thoughts on how you felt inside the Biennale. For me, even whilst inside, I often became hyper conscious of the feeling of “otherness.”
Thanks for the article. It actually made the idea of writing about these kinds of things less daunting! I would like to hear more about your thoughts by the way!
(also haha my cousins would also make fun of me for the way I spoke spanish with an american accent!)
Thank you Alejandro! I’m glad my blog post sparked you to also write about issues of otherness. This was a hard blog post to write and I found trouble articulating a lot of the sentiments that I wanted to say, but thank you for understanding what I said. I do feel that art takes time to impact people, but there’s art that impacts people in the snap of a finger. It all depends on the viewers and I would be more than happy to explore this notion with you!