di Marta Scaglioni, July 19, 2016.

Photo by author. All rights reserved.

In the
south-eastern Tunisian region of Mednine, music represented a socially
marginalised way for post-emancipation blacks to advance. Now younger generations
want something different.

Tunisia’s
former president, Zine el Abidine Ben Ali, fled his country on 14 January 2011
to find shelter in Saudi Arabia, after the series of uprisings that overthrew
his government. Censorship was relaxed after the
change in leadership and debates on previously taboo issues spread in the media
and the academy. Racism against black Tunisians was one of them.

Before 2011, Tunisians did not speak
about ethnic or religious differences. After the achievement of independence in
1956, Habib Bourguiba’s nation-building policy (1957-1987) stressed the
belonging of all Tunisians to a common past as well as their religious, ethnic,
and political homogeneity. Nonetheless, the painful reality of racism and
social segregation continued, and many Tunisians still use the words wassif (servant) or ‘abid (slave) to
refer to blacks.

There are no statistics on the
percentage of blacks in Tunisia’s population, but black rights associations
consider even 15% to be too low. We also lack data on the employment profiles
of black Tunisians, but again their advocates say that they are predominantly
in the lowest social classes. Intermarriage between black and white Tunisians remains
taboo, and even today black people in rural areas refer to their former white masters
as ‘sidi’ and ‘lella’ (master and mistress). In my analysis, this reflects the
past of slavery in the present, and the continued socio-economic disparity
between black and white.

The ‘end’ of slavery in Tunisia

Even though not all black Tunisians are
descended from slaves, one cannot understand the history of black Tunisians without
understanding slavery and the trans-Saharan slave trade. The importing of
slaves into what is today Tunisia from Sudan, ‘the land of black people’, reached
its peak during the Ottoman Empire. And slaves were employed widely as servants
or farmworkers.

These slaves were formally freed in
1846 when, uniquely for the Maghreb and Muslim world, the then ruler, Ahmed Bey
(1837-1855), abolished slavery and the slave trade before being
pushed to do so by the colonial West.

Yet the
trajectory of slaves in the north south of the country diverged sharply after
abolition. In urban Tunis, on the northern coast, many freed
slaves ended up in situations of deprivation, impoverishment, vagrancy,
prostitution and peddling, since most middle-class families refused to employ
them as servants. Emancipation for them was purely juridical, making little
difference in socio-economic terms.

By contrast, in the rural south, former
slaves often remained in the households of their erstwhile masters as ‘ousfane’ – domestic servants. And as a
result, slavery in the south slowly morphed into another Islamic institution, wala’, a patronage relationship in which
freed slaves adopt the name of their former masters, often adding ‘abid or shwuashin (the more politically correct term use to refer to freed
slaves) to distinguish themselves.

The prestige of tafya

Despite these differences, a convergence
existed for some time between northern and southern post-abolition black trajectories
– and that was in their music. Freed slaves from all over the country embarked
on careers in music, as music was a profession that remained open to all blacks
both because it was widely required at ceremonies and because it was low status
in the eyes of whites.

Black singers and groups would often
sing during weddings or pilgrimages to the saints’ tombs. In the eastern region
of Mednine, for example, the musical accompaniment of tayfa was sought out for weddings, funerals and other gatherings,
including by white families. Tayfa
players improvise songs praising the bride and groom and also tell social
stories reflecting social or cultural history.

For some, and particularly for older
black Tunisians, this musical legacy is a source of great pride. “The south is characterised
by special things”, said Ali, 80, proudly. “It is characterised by poetry. People
here are poets”, he continued, “and they sing at marriage ceremonies”. In his
village of El Gosbah, tayfa groups are
still going strong despite the fact that the art itself is fading. Fathers pass
their skills on to their sons and teach them how to drum, sing, create poetry
and improvise.

Tayfa players from
older generations still attach a great value and prestige to their singing. “We
sometimes sang for president Bourguiba on his birthday in Monastir”, recalled
Dhaw, now in his 80s. “Songs about how he brought independence to Tunisia, about
how hard he worked and how he was modest and brave”. Singing for the president was
regarded as a great privilege, not least because he occupied a respected place
in their historical memories. Pride too came from the sense of being entrusted by
God with the task of remembering and recounting past events, and for having
been able to use tafya to provide for
one’s family. As one man pointed out, “I managed to send all my six boys to
school and to university because of tafya”.
Tafya players earned respect in the
black community, and they invested their earnings in social improvement.

Generational differences

But today Tayfa is perceived differently by the younger generation. Where
once it was a source of pride for post-slavery blacks divided by class and by
region but united by low social status, the younger generation now see it as part
of the structure that perpetuates inequality and underpins the paternalistic
relationship that exists between white and black.

Yassin, for example, is 29, and he refused
to become a tafya singer even though
his father was one. “White people ‘look after’ tayfa because they still perceive us as slaves”, he said. “They want
to be praised by us…sometimes the songs say ‘look how lucky you are, to marry
such a white man’”. And Yassin rejects this subservience, he rejects it as
undignified. As one tayfa player
lamented, “Younger generations just don’t want to sing tayfa any longer”.

Once, tayfa players and other black musicians created an occupational
niche for themselves which was socially inferior but also economically
profitable. The economic and social gains they made were reinvested in their
families and communities, translating into strategies of emancipation that have
empowered today’s younger generations. Yet these generations now reject that
strategy. They see the shadows of past slavery in it, and they see these as continuing
to disempower and marginalise black Tunisians. Now they want something better.

SOURCE: Open democracy