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优秀球员除了看进球还看什么(法国队球员喜悦之情溢于言表)

【jrkan直播】 2022-11-28 09:42:33
优秀球员除了看进球还看什么(法国队球员喜悦之情溢于言表)

“当你赢球时,你就是一名法国球员。当你输了,你不是。

“当你获胜时,你就是一名法国球员。当你输了,你不是

没有获取到翻译结果

Imen Houalef特别记得她的教练在Houalef一起打球三年后戴头巾练习网球的第一天的眼睛。那双眼睛怎么变了。他们让她在13岁时感觉自己突然间就不属于这里了。在法国长大,网球是Houalef最喜欢的运动,“一个我可以感觉最好的地方,”她说。但在那次相遇后不久,她就辞职了。法院不再觉得自己是一个安全的空间。

22岁的平面设计专业学生Houalef说,她的故事在法国女运动员中很常见。由于在包括足球和篮球在内的一些有组织的运动中禁止使用宗教符号,戴头巾的运动员经常面临最后通牒:取下头巾,或者从看台上观看。(“Hijab”在伊斯兰传统中,大致表示朴素的着装,但通俗地说,它被用来表示穆斯林妇女戴的头巾。

在寻找更具包容性的环境的过程中,Houalef最终发现了Les Hijabeuses——来自“hijab”和“footballeuses”,或女性足球运动员——一个包括足球队和跑步俱乐部的活动组织。“我一直在寻找一项接受头巾的运动,”Houalef说。“但这不应该是这样。我应该选择一项运动,因为我喜欢它,而不是因为我的头巾被接受。她说,她发现一个希望“为女性创造机会,让她们感觉像自己”的团体。

这项任务几乎每天都受到挑战。对于Les Hijabeuses来说,跨越足球场白线的每一步都是进入法律灰色地带的一步。在比赛之前,即使是业余水平,戴头巾的人首先需要向裁判提出上诉,裁判可以将他们送到看台上——或者无视这项运动最高层的指示。

禁令的核心是更广泛的国家对世俗主义的承诺。与美国类似,政教分离是法国的基本理想。但这两个国家在应用上有所不同:法国不仅将教会和国家分开,而且按照1905年基本法的规定,它要求国家在所有宗教事务上完全中立。

例如:法国政府不收集有关种族、宗教或民族的人口普查信息。公职人员不能用圣文宣誓就职。而且,自2004年以来,公开的宗教符号——头巾、十字架、yarmulkes——在公立学校和公共机构被禁止。

特别是足球禁令,不是法国法律,也不是政府的官方指令。但该国几乎所有的足球运动——从最低级一直到国家队——都由法国足球联合会(FFF)管理,而FFF本身由政府的体育部授权。FFF坚持认为,它执行禁令是法兰西共和国既定价值观的延伸。

这套复杂的世俗价值观——松散地称为laïcité,一种将网撒在宗教(法律上)和种族(社会上)上的意识形态支柱——被载入法国1958年宪法,保证“所有公民,无论其出身、种族或宗教如何,在法律面前一律平等,并尊重所有宗教信仰。

对于FFF,这反映在其“促进自由,宽容和多样性的价值观”的核心使命中。(在去年给半岛电视台的一份声明中,FFF解释说它“有公共服务使命;它适用共和国的法律。FFF没有回应体育画报的多次评论请求。但许多人,包括社会学家、Les Hijabeuses的创始成员Haïfa Tlili博士,认为足球中的头巾禁令实际上并不尊重1905年的法律或laïcité。

“这项禁令对良心自由提出了质疑,”特利利说,“这是共和国非常强烈的价值观。她还指出,对宗教符号的禁令不适用于有宗教纹身的足球运动员,例如十字架。相反,她说法律的精神正在纵以歧视。她说,穆斯林妇女“在法国不是一个新人口。...我把联系到殖民主义。这是帝国主义的——这就是为什么你要对这个人口实施[禁令]。

国际足联此前也禁止在国际足球比赛中戴头巾,这是该组织归因于球员安全的规定。但在联合国和几个国家联合会的压力下,经过两年的试用期,禁令最终于2014年解除。与此同时,FFF不仅维持了禁令,而且该规则几乎变成了法国法律。

今年1月,保守派政客发起了一场运动,根据法国法律,将FFF禁令应用于所有有组织的体育运动。(目前,每个体育联合会都对此事制定了自己的规则。当一项修正案首次在法国参议院通过并提出辩论时,Les Hijabeuses集会。

该组织在参议院外的卢森堡花园玩抗议游戏,高呼“Nous,on jouera!”(我们会继续玩!Houalef是该组织的联合社交媒体协调员,他帮助成员在社交媒体上争取支持,请愿书有超过70,000个签名,以及由前国家队队长Lilian Thuram,退役NBA球员Ronny Turiaf和曼联传奇人物Eric Cantona等人签署的专栏文章。

当修正案最终被法国议会下院撤销时,Les Hijabeuses宣布获胜,但它仍然针对FFF禁令,为此它已向法国最高法院国务委员会提出上诉。

Tlili说,这“不仅仅是可见。这是关于不再被沉默。

然而,在Les Hijabeuses的上诉被听到之前,FFF禁令仍然有效。这意味着,在2024年,当巴黎举办夏季奥运会时,全世界都在关注,这个拥有欧洲穆斯林人口最多的国家可能仍然禁止其女性在参加该国最受欢迎的运动时戴头巾。

这都是法国多元化和包容性的复杂历史的一部分——laïcité在理论上被应用,但遇到了宗教和种族细微差别的问题。在这个国家传奇的足球历史中可以看到这种斗争,充其量,在那里,通过多样性实现和谐和对身份的庆祝。最坏的情况?分裂、不和谐、歧视。

这一切都发生在1998年至2018年,20年的时间跨度使法国赢得了两届世界杯。

“当你赢了,你就是一名法国球员。当你输了,你就不是。

这就是帕特里斯·埃弗拉(Patrice Evra)如何看待法国国家队中双重国籍的地位。他会知道:他出生在塞内加尔,不久后搬到巴黎,最终成为Les Bleus的队长。

The summer of 1998, back when Evra was just a fan, was a time of reverie. France hosted the World Cup and won it in Paris, sending an entire nation into the streets to celebrate. The squad that placed the country’s first star above its crest was hailed as a model of diversity, a champion of the social ideals of laïcité. The team was filled with immigrants and sons of immigrants—Zinedine Zidane, Thierry Henry, Thuram—who belted “La Marseillaise” before games and kissed the jersey after goals.

In headlines and in stadium chants, the phrase was “Black, Blanc, Beur”—a play on the “bleu, blanc, rouge” of the French flag. (“Beur,” in French, refers to a person of North African ancestry.) French president Jacques Chirac praised the team and weaponized their success against an anti-immigration movement, declaring: “This tricolour and multi-colour team has given a beautiful image of France and its humanity.”

In Chirac’s eyes, the team showed that France “has a soul, or is searching for one.” Soccer, as it often does, had united a nation and burnished a common thread. Evra suggests the success of the 1998 team even played a role in changing family dynamics in French society. “Everyone was together,” he says, “so you were allowed—even if you were Algerian or Senegalese—to [marry] a French [person], to be accepted in their family.”

The reverie would last only so long. At the 2010 World Cup in South Africa, French media vilified the national squad for a team-wide protest after the federation sent forward Nicolas Anelka home following a halftime disagreement with manager Raymond Domenech. The team would go on to crash out of the group stage without winning a match, and footage of the players’ refusal to leave the team bus for a training session was broadcast around the world.

Evra, who captained that team, claims that players shouldered the blame because politicians back home needed a scapegoat for France’s failures. “When the politicians get involved in football, that’s where the damage is,” Evra says. “That’s when disaster happened.”

One year later, after the FFF dismissed Domenech and installed Laurent Blanc, the new manager found himself at the center of an ethnicity controversy. Blanc (who played a veteran role on the triumphant “Black, Blanc, Beur” team) had already ended France’s policy of providing halal meat at team meals when the investigative website Mediapart revealed he’d pushed to limit the number of dual-national players in France’s youth setup.

“I get the impression we’re really forming the same prototype of players: tall, strong, powerful,” Blanc said in a conversation that had been recorded and leaked. “Who is tall, strong, powerful? The Blacks.”

Blanc eventually issued a halfhearted apology (while attacking the media for insinuating he was racist or xenophobic) and, despite the recording, he was cleared of wrongdoing, while a sports minister deemed his comments “borderline tending toward racist.”

Evra, who retired from the game entirely in 2019, remembers the racism and discrimination he experienced elsewhere across his 12-year international career. He recalls letters sent to the FFF training center at Clairefontaine telling him to “go back to Africa with your monkeys.” And he remembers how, when French politicians visited, seating charts were rearranged to put more white players in photo ops—to have, he says, “more people looking like French people.”

“Players were asking me, ‘Patrice, why?’ And I say, ‘Because we are not home, no matter if we have the French passport,” Evra says. “We [looked at] all the pictures with the French president, and there’s not any Black person [standing] next to him.”

Before Euro 2016, which France hosted, the national team once again found itself at the center of a tense discussion on ethnicity. Striker Karim Benzema, who is of Algerian descent, claimed at the time that he was excluded from the French squad because manager Didier Deschamps had “bowed to the pressure of a racist part of France,” following ISIS attacks around Paris. Benzema, however, had been suspended from the French team that winter after being investigated for complicity in attempted blackmail in a sex-tape scandal involving another national team player, which many took as the actual reason for his absence. (The FFF did not directly address the incident in omitting Benzema, referring only to “the ability of players to work towards unity.” Benzema was eventually found guilty by the Versailles criminal court; he was issued a one-year suspended jail sentence and a fine of $84,000.)

Right-wing politicians and anti-immigration hard-liners rushed into the discussion about the French team’s diversity. Marion Maréchal-Le Pen, the granddaughter of National Front founder Jean-Marie Le Pen, said Benzema should “go and play in his country,” meaning Algeria. Marine Le Pen, who would later finish second in the 2017 and ’22 presidential elections, said Benzema “hides his wickedness behind a violent charge against the French people.”

But the popular sentiment around Benzema has since evolved. This year he became the first French player in more than 20 years to win the Ballon d’Or, as the world’s best player, after leading Real Madrid to La Liga and Champions League titles. His friction with the French team and his Algerian origins were no longer at the forefront as he prepared to lead Les Bleus in Qatar before pulling out with a thigh injury Saturday.

Evra, for one, thinks the conversation should be more nuanced. “When Benzema won the Ballon d’Or, I [sent him] the French flag and the Algerian flag,” he says. “It’s not like, because we win, we forget [and] we are only French. We love both countries. We pick to play for [one] country, but we can love two countries.”

Twenty years after the “Black, Blanc, Beur” triumph, at the 2018 World Cup in Russia, France added a second World Cup star to its crest. And once again the team’s diversity—the nation’s deep reserve of talent—was on full display. Nineteen of the 23 players on that squad were eligible to play for another country. And another 29 players in Russia had been born in France (including 13 who played on a French U18 or U21 team) but competed for another nation. (In Qatar, there will be 38 French-born players on other teams.)

After France’s victory in the Moscow final, one of the most acute examinations of that team’s makeup played out on late-night TV, of all places. In a clip that went viral, The Daily Show host Trevor Noah joyously claimed “Africa won the World Cup.” His jab was partly a celebration of the team’s diversity, and partly a reminder of France’s colonial history, but mostly it was meant to highlight the squad’s African origins following a triumph, rather than after a defeat.

Subsequently, the French ambassador to the U.S. sent a strongly worded letter to Noah, noting “France does not refer to its citizens based on their race, religion or origin. To us there is no hyphenated identity.”

The exchange perfectly captured the discourse over the French team’s diversity and how it was celebrated. And in his reply Noah threw some gas into the fiery debate over laïcité: “Why can’t [a player] be both? Why is that duality only afforded to a select group of people? … In order to be French, you have to erase everything that is African? ... I don’t take their French-ness away, but I don’t think you need to take their African-ness away.”

Evra remembers how it went both ways for him—when he chose to play for France over Senegal, he says he was criticized even within the Senegalese community in France. “When you pick your national team, it’s not just about football. It becomes political.”

In Qatar, the first predominantly Muslim nation to host a World Cup, French players will undoubtedly be seen in Muslim prayer over the coming weeks, while others might make the sign of the cross after singing “La Marseillaise.” This global stage will again be a showcase of the diversity that briefly united the nation in 1998—as well as a source of contention, for those displays of difference.

Back in France, though, the organizers of another soccer tournament are doubling down on those differences, all in the name of unity.

With a phone in hand, pointed to shoot video, Ferhat Cicek strides through a match in June between Portugal and Italy at the meager Stade Élisabeth in south Paris. Cicek navigates right through the middle of the pitch, and the game tilts around him while he provides hashtag-heavy commentary (Think: DJ Khaled at an AND1 streetball game.) Three different rap songs boom simultaneously from speakers along the sidelines, blasting insults about mothers that would make Marco Materazzi blush.

A referee has just shoved one player and challenged another to a fight when Cicek, 42, intervenes, issuing the ref a verbal red card and starting to officiate the match himself, camera still in hand, commentary still on full blast. He’s wearing a pair of tinted aviators, like what Cristiano Ronaldo might sport on an Ibiza yacht, and a muscle tee with the postcode of this particular Parisian neighborhood, 75014, printed on the back.

Chest out, Cicek walks through the game like he owns it, which he practically does. This is the fourth edition of the Barrio Nation Cup, a soccer tournament he helped create. Unique in its diversity and hyperlocality and flair—in later rounds, onlookers will crowd the pitch to the point where they became the touchline; every goal will be a chance to storm the field and break into a celebration of dance and song—the event is an “antidote,” Cicek says, to France’s divisions and the polemics surrounding laïcité.

Every player here is French, but among 14 teams there’s only one squad actually named France. The rest of the field is made up of teams populated by the country’s most populous diasporas: Senegalese, Algerian, Portuguese, Congolese … . Other teams represent smaller Parisian communities, like the Kabylie (a Berber community native to northern Algeria) and Dom-Tom (a representative term for overseas territories in the French republic, like Martinique, Réunion, Guadeloupe and French Polynesia, among others).

Any ethnic group that puts together a 12-person team can play, but there’s one rigid requirement for entry: At least eight of those 12 players must live in the Quatorzième, the 14th of 20 arrondissements, or districts, that divide Paris. The majority of the players have roots in the countries they play for, with a few exceptions. For example: The brother of AC Milan midfielder Tiémoué Bakayoko, who’s from the neighborhood and of Ivorian origin, played this summer for the Italian team on the basis that his brother lives and plays in Italy. (Kylian Mbappé, France’s star forward, would be eligible for four teams: Cameroon, through his father; Algeria and Kabylie, through his mother; and France.)

In between games, over Turkish tea, Cicek lays out why all of this matters. “The most important story to tell is that France is not just white,” he says. “The face of France has changed, because many different people have come to France. My origin is Turkish, but I am French. In the system, I am Turkish. With the tournament, I want to show that France is Arab, Black, Muslim, Christian, atheist, white, Jewish—all people working for France. It is my fight.”

And so his tournament is a festival of nuance. Cicek says that last year Bakayoko paid for the players’ jerseys, and Cicek, who works as a Nike ambassador, helped nail the details. For the Ivory Coast, he incorporated the intricately woven West African kente pattern into the shirt’s design. For Mali, whose national team is called the Eagles, the numbers were designed as feathers.

“I like details; they’re important,” says Cicek. “For example, when a white person moves [abroad] they are an expatriate, but an African person [in France] is an immigrant. What is the difference? Small details. But details tell us everything.”

Walid Guemmi sees those details. At 26, he’s a BNC regular, and he coaches the U11 squad for Paris Alésia FC, the local youth club that hosts the tournament. Born in France to a family of Moroccan immigrants, Guemmi remembers years ago doing his French homework alongside his mother so they could learn the language together. He describes the polarity of his identity as “being between two chairs” and says now that his involvement in soccer is out of a “tradition of empathy” in the neighborhood.

Says Guemmi: “When I go to Morocco, they say that I’m French. And when I’m in France, they tell me I’m Moroccan. When [things go bad], we feel these differences. But when everybody’s happy, we don’t.”

Guemmi, like Cicek, believes in the power of the neighborhood. Whereas laïcité and secularism focus on broad strokes that try to paint everyone as equal by law, the Barrio Nation Cup celebrates a canvas colored by difference.

“It’s always up to others to define who we are,” says Guemmi. “The only place we’re accepted is our neighborhood. So wherever we go, we say we are from the Quatorzième, because we have always been accepted here. I think that’s a really good way to express ourselves.”

Throughout the World Cup, Guemmi and Cicek will find themselves at Stade Élisabeth, in the clubhouse, along with hundreds of Paris Alésia youth players, including many who participated in this year’s Barrio Nation Cup. Senegalese and Tunisian and Portuguese players will cheer their respective national teams on. But when France lines up, the 14 teams of the Barrio Nation Cup will boil down to one—united by difference, singing one anthem.

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