What’s in a name? Quite a lot if you’re French

France has witnessed an unprecedented event. At his farewell address, Gérald Darmanin, born in 1982 in Valenciennes and now former minister of the interior, dropped a bombshell before handing over to his successor, conservative Catholic Bruno Retailleau.

As he often did during his seven-year tenure, he spoke about his background, mentioning his mother who worked as a concierge for the Bank of France and as a cleaning lady, in an attempt to touch hearts. But it was his account of his birth that left the audience stunned.

The outgoing interior minister disclosed that he was nearly named Moussa at birth, after his Algerian-born maternal grandfather. “My name is Gérald Moussa Jean Darmanin,” he began. “At the maternity ward, my father wanted to write Moussa on my birth certificate. It was the name of my grandfather, an Algerian sharpshooter who had loyally served France. After so many years in elected office, it is painfully clear,” he admitted. “Had I been called Moussa Darmanin, the doors to becoming mayor, deputy, and certainly Minister of the Interior would have remained firmly shut. This name would not have altered my education, diminished my merit, or lessened my love for France. But we must confront the uncomfortable truth of our society.”

His comments, which sparked numerous mockeries, clearly indicated that France has not yet overcome its Islamophobic ghosts. Discrimination against children of immigrant backgrounds persists, particularly due to their Arab-Muslim sounding names, especially in the job market.

The discrimination faced by those with North African names, a persistent issue since the 1970s, has only intensified in recent years. As the far-right’s influence in French politics has grown, the acknowledgment of this societal prejudice by a figure as prominent as the former interior minister strikes a particularly raw nerve. For millions of French citizens with North African heritage, this recognition has come far too late.

“The rise of the far-right as a major political force has already been a source of concern for many. Now, hearing this stark sociological reality confirmed by none other than the former interior minister himself, adds a new layer of pain for millions of French citizens with North African roots. It is a bitter pill to swallow.”

On Monday, Gérald Moussa Darmanin laid bare a harsh truth about French politics: a name like Moussa, even one honoring a grandfather who fought for France, can be a barrier to electoral success. His revelation is profoundly dispiriting. For seven years, Darmanin served as France’s top law enforcement official, all while harboring an internal conflict: Gérald versus Moussa. This duality, reminiscent of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, highlights the complex identity struggles faced by many French citizens of immigrant origin. Only now, freed from his ministerial duties, does Darmanin allow his suppressed ’Moussa’ identity to voice its frustration. “We have to face facts!” he declares, a statement that rings hollow after years of silence.

The 2016 right-wing primaries in France brought to light a controversial name issue. Alain Juppé, former prime minister, fell victim to vile racist attacks. The contest turned on a linguistic twist: Alain versus Ali. Many right-wing voters were prepared to support Juppé over François Fillon until baseless rumors began to circulate. These whispers painted Juppé as pro-Muslim.

In the weeks leading up to the primary, Juppé’s opponents flooded the internet with accusations. They claimed he had funded a large mosque, supported an imam, and promoted “diversity.” Doctored images circulated showing him dressed as a mullah. These attacks, coming a year after the devastating Islamist attacks in Paris, centered on the wordplay Ali-Alain, insinuating that Alain was concealing an Ali. This smear campaign played a role in Juppé’s defeat. The pain of this reality lingers. Ali-Alain. Gérald-Moussa. It recalls the 2008 US presidential election and its world-shocking debates, with Barack Obama emerging victorious.

The discrimination faced by those with North African names, a persistent issue since the 1970s, has only intensified in recent years.

Azouz Begag

Low blows were raining down, coming from Republicans who attributed to him equivocal affiliations with Islam, suspected his childhood in Indonesia, his schooling in a Quranic school, connections with terrorist networks.

Hatred reached its zenith during the campaign. At a John McCain rally, someone yelled “kill him!” The murderous call was echoed by others in the crowd of thousands. This incident unleashed a wave of white, Christian, and Islamophobic rhetoric against Barack Hussein Obama. Two young neo-Nazis were arrested before the election, planning to assassinate Obama to foil what they perceived as an Arab-Muslim plot. Barack-Hussein. An American struggle this time. Repulsive. Amid this, one politician, Colin Powell, took a stand against the Islamophobic tendencies within his own party.

Colin Powell, African-American and former secretary of state under G.W. Bush, endorsed Obama, appalled by the racial undertones in his party. He stated, “I am troubled by another argument from McCain, which other Republican Party members are also using. They now freely say things like: ’Mr. Obama is Muslim!’ He is not Muslim. He is Christian and always has been. But the real answer is: ’So what if he was?’” Powell boldly asked: was being Muslim a problem in the United States? Despite the controversy, Barack Hussein Obama was elected and even won a second term. His presidency was ending just as Alain Juppé lost in France, partly due to the ’Ali’ controversy.

Fillon’s supporters could celebrate, but the damage from the anti-Ali attacks would linger in the minds of countless Muslims. Exploiting Islam as a political bogeyman was beneath the ideals of fraternity in France. Since the 1970s, French citizens named Ali have been compelled to alter their names to evade discrimination, conceal their identities to avoid rejection, and even deny their heritage to appear more acceptable.

The link between self-esteem and appreciation of one’s first name is significant. A name is the first personal detail shared in new encounters, influencing how others perceive and integrate an individual. More familiar names are often better received, as familiarity breeds acceptance. During the 1970s-1980s, young Arabs in France adopted European names like Aldo, Luigi, or Jimmy, instead of Mohamed, Bachir, or Ali, to gain social acceptance. Later, diminutives helped conceal origins: Mustapha became “Mouss”, Mohamed “Momo”, Samir “Sami”, Messaoud “Mess”, Kader “Kad”, etc. Eventually, verlan slang transformed names: Karim to “Rimka”, Maurad to “Radmo”, and Kamel to “Melka”, etc.

The psychological effects of these identity concealments on future generations of young Arabs were foreseeable. French society’s rejection of their names equated to rejecting their parental history, ancestral heritage, genealogy, and ultimately, Islam. This identity suppression was bound to backfire. The pendulum would swing from self-denial to ostentatious display of identity. Today, we find ourselves caught in this vicious cycle.

In 1960s America, the greatest boxing champion ever changed his name from Cassius Clay to Mohamed Ali, asserting his identity in a segregated society. In France, it was understood that Mohamed hindered job prospects. However, the Juppé incident revealed that even Ali had become synonymous with rejection. On September 23, 2024, former minister Moussa Darmanin’s statement officially confirmed this troubling trend.

In 2008, Colin Powell posed questions to Americans: “Is being Muslim in the United States a problem? No... Is it an issue for a seven-year-old American Muslim child to dream of becoming president? No...” In France, however, such issues persist. The question remains: how much longer will this disdain towards the Moussas continue?

• Azouz Begag is a writer and former minister (2005-2007), researcher in economics and sociology. He is a research fellow at CNRS. X: @AzouzBegag