Baldwin and southern hospitality
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Baldwin cites madness as the conduit for his migration. In Paris, he speaks of falling in love and how love transcends pigment, fostering a naked, shared humanity. Perhaps it was this love—or the recognition of its absence—that led Baldwin to empathize with his Algerian neighbors, labeled lazy by the French. Having faced systemic barriers, Baldwin knew very well the structures keeping Algerian migrants poor and destitute. But he also saw the threads of love that persisted in their communities, notably in their cafes—spaces that, to outsiders, symbolized laziness but, to Algerians, embodied solidarity and a semblance of home. This echoes readings like Bengali Harlem, where migrants carve out shared spaces, cultivating a collective melancholia.
Baldwin also recognized a key difference in outlook. For African Americans, whose culture and identities were erased by slavery, home was a cruel blank slate. Baldwin's anger drove him to search for home elsewhere. For Algerians, however, home was distant but tangible, close enough to resist recreating it in Paris.
In class, we discussed hospitality as both an ethical ideal and a state portrayal of migrant acceptance. This reminds me of Southern hospitality, which often manifests in transactional spaces like restaurants and cinemas. To me, Southern hospitality has always felt like a front—akin to Canadian multiculturalism—a thin veil of friendliness masking entrenched racism and exclusionary politics. However, this veiled hospitality seems to be eroding, replaced by the open hostility of Trump land, where subtlety gives way to overt hatred.