Tahia djazair
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My mother is Kabyle, which means she comes from a specific region of Algeria. But it's not just a location, it also means she's part of an ethnic group distinct from the Arabs. As an Amazigh people, the Kabyles have their own language, traditions, history, and a whole heritage that differs from the Arab majority in Algeria. That's why, when she introduces herself, she always insists that she is "Kabyle Algerian". For her, it's crucial to make this distinction because to reduce her to an Arab identity would be to deny an essential part of who she is.
This demand is not insignificant. It's part of a history in which Amazigh identities have often been pushed aside in favour of homogenisation around Arabness. My mother rejects this implicit assimilation. Her Kabyle identity is an asset, a heritage she wants to preserve and pass on. It's not a rejection of Algeria; on the contrary, it reminds us that Algerianness is plural and that several voices and stories make it up.
In fact, it reminds me of the experience of Syrian migrants in Canada. They, too, have had to fight against the pressure to assimilate, this time into Anglo-Canadian culture. To resist, they created churches, community associations, and a whole network to preserve their language, traditions, and faith. At the same time, they had to juggle multiple identities "Syrian" "Arab", "Turkish" often imposed by the administration or the stereotypes of Canadian society.
I think these two stories, that of my mother and that of the Syrians in Canada, are similar in one crucial point, they illustrate the tension between majority and minority identities. Whether in Algeria or Canada, marginalised groups must constantly assert their singularity in the face of categorisations that simplify or erase them. For example, for Syrians, the term "Arab" has long been central, even if it has had different meanings in different contexts and at other times. In the same way, my mother rejects the idea that Algerian identity automatically boils down to Arab identity.
These stories also show the extent to which words matter. Whether it's my mother, who insists that she is Kabyle or the Syrian-Lebanese associations that claim their Arab heritage, there is always a symbolic and political dimension behind these choices. Words determine how we perceive, claim and transmit an identity. Finally, these struggles reveal how complex it is to protect one's identity in a world where the norm is often assimilation or simplification.