No France in the Champagne Room
As a seasoned traveler, I have been conditioned to handle worst-case scenarios. Canceled flights, train delays, no ATMs, no Ubers, no-where to eat. After living in eight different countries over the last decade, I’ve learned almost anything is possible. Then COVID-19 happened, and the impossibilities multiplied. As a black American living abroad, the immediate impact I have felt as an ex-patriot was the power of the American passport. I have seen our country only through a Black lens, with images in the media, and trauma passed down through stories from elders. Nevertheless, I have always been keenly aware, the second I leave our country, that blue passport actually legitimizes me as an American. I have never felt more American in my life than I have when I’m not in the United States. It’s a feeling really only black American travelers understand. I begrudgingly have admitted to friends and colleagues that this feeling of empowerment has probably been a catalyst of keeping me abroad. However, with COVID-19, and the response to the pandemic happening on a global stage, the luster of the American passport has been tarnished exponentially. All of this has come to fruition for me personally, in a recent attempt to travel to France for work and study.
About ten years ago, I traveled from Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso to Paris. As I was getting ready to pass through customs, I noticed a man from the plane speaking to one of the agents. I saw what looked like a book in his hands. It looked like a life-long handwritten manifesto. I realized as I was passing by him, the ‘manifesto’ in actuality was a collection of documents to help him justify entering France, and there I was, with that handy blue passport.
“Bonjour monsieur. You want to know why I’m in France? None of your business, now give me my stamp I have a language to butcher”.
For the record, I have never been this rude, but I was always in awe of the ease of this interaction. I come from a community that almost blatantly resents authority, but never has a foreign customs agent made me tense the way a routine traffic stop would in my home state of Virginia. Fast forward to August 7th, 2020 and things have certainly changed. As a side project, and also just in my own interest of French language and culture, I work on a French vineyard outside of Reims every year around this time for the harvest season ‘Le vendange’. It’s not easy work, but everyone speaks French and quite frankly it’s incredibly fascinating. This year I was determined to speak better French, so I decided to enroll at one of the many French language schools to practice for a few weeks before the harvest. All of the plans were arranged in April of 2020, because who thought we’d still be dealing with this pandemic now back in April.
On July 1st I got my first scare when the EU officially put the United States on their “not a chance in hell” list. I considered then just letting the vineyard know I wouldn’t make it this year, but when I reached out, the owners told me they would draft an attestation (an official document stating my purposes for being in France), and provided with that and the fact I do not live in the USA, (I’m currently in Mexico and have been since January), that should be enough. Soon after, the owners provided me with the attestation and the language school presented me with a letter of enrollment, given the policy decision that had given students and exception to the closed border. Besides the fact that I do not live in the USA (currently in Mexico), should be enough right?
As I prepared for my flight from Mexico City to Paris, I knew I was going to have to explain my situation a variety of times. I was right. Air France was hesitant to even let me board the flight. They said I needed a visa in my passport, or they would not let me enter, ‘Because I am American’. It took a lot of debating, and even a phone call to the school which luckily was available at the awkward time and confirmed my story. After boarding my flight, I was actually feeling positive about my chances of entering France. Upon arrival, I couldn’t help but remember the Burkinabe man from a decade ago. Unlike him, I was denied entry. Despite the school letter. Despite the confirmation of my employment from the vineyard. Despite a negative COVID-19 test result taken the day before the flight. I am a citizen of a nation, too volatile to be allowed to enter.
The officer, who seemed to actually be empathetic after spending what felt like an eternity going back and forth into a room where people are instructed to shake their head ‘NO’ as they exit, told me under normal circumstances my letter would be more than sufficient. I’m glossing over how agonizing this experience was; however, it should be noted that travel in the immediate future for American citizens will be more strenuous than perhaps it has ever been in history.
I was forced to buy a plane ticket back…somewhere, but I chose to go back to Mexico, almost out of spite. I have no desire to go back to the nation that has put me in this predicament. That’s just how I feel today. I will be back of course. First week of November.
Eric Patrick