Some were born in Algeria, Morocco, Lebanon or Cameroon before emigrating with their parents. Others were born in France to foreign parents. And some settled here as adults, and acquired French nationality through marriage. Since Monday, June 24, when the far-right party's president, Jordan Bardella, presented the Rassemblement National (RN) program for the legislative elections, the announcement of his intention to ban dual nationals from certain so-called "strategic" jobs has worried, hurt and outraged these French people who have retained dual nationality. "I feel like a guest in my own home," said Hanane (who declined to give her full name), a French-Moroccan real estate manager who lives in the southern Paris suburb of Kremlin-Bicêtre.
Even before expressing their anger, all were keen to point out that the examples put forward by Bardella didn't fool anyone – he repeatedly cited the example of a "French-Russian" who would run "a nuclear power plant." "French-Africans, whether from sub-Saharan Africa or the Maghreb, have clearly understood that this proposal is not aimed at Swedes or Finns," quipped Benoît Onambélé, a French-Cameroonian working in an international organization in Paris. The meaning of the word "strategic" is also a source of concern. "Flying a plane, driving public transport, caring for patients: don't these jobs also hold lives in their hands?" asked Djillali Annane, head of the intensive care unit at Garches Hospital and president of the Union of Intensive Care Physicians.
Everyone has their own approach to dual nationality. Some have never really thought about it, like Ghassan Rachidi's four daughters, said the French-Lebanese radiologist based in Voiron (southeastern France), who moved to France for his studies. But for him, who is "100% French and 100% Lebanese, and even 200% French," the feeling of being questioned about his attachment to France is all the more difficult to bear as he chose to become French through marriage, as an adult.
"How can you tell someone who has chosen France, who has adopted its values, often even before arriving, that he's not French enough? It just doesn't make sense," asked Ghada Hatem, a French-Lebanese obstetrician-gynecologist and founder of the Maison des Femmes in the northern Paris suburb Saint-Denis.
'A bit absurd'
Hatem is well aware that she is a "luxury dual national," who would not be the first to suffer the discrimination threatening those deemed "not French enough," if the RN came to power. But this era of suspicion is already generating a deep sense of injustice among those who know they have been chosen for their skills. Annane uses medical vocabulary to demonstrate the absurdity of this reasoning: dual nationality is "certainly not a reliable 'diagnostic test' for deciding who to trust for a mission, a function or a position," he said, advocating the need to "consider people for what they do rather than for what they are."
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