Citizen of the World

I heard one of the person I love the most, my right-hand man, described himself as a "Citizen of the World". It was not the first time I heard this appellation. In my mind, I would never have guessed that my dearest would think of himself as such.

I had a mini brainstorming session with myself, as I tried to remember when I heard that "Citizen of the World" appellation for the very first time. I heard it from a French singer, very popular in the sixties and seventies. The man was from Jewish confession with Greek and Italian origins. He was one of my favorite singers growing up, maybe because my mother loved him so much. His music had rocked part of my childhood. I remember drawing a portrait of him in my early teens. I did not fancy him like today's teenagers would love a Justin Bieber or a V, or a worldwide handsome Jin from BTS. Georges Moustaki was already an old man when he came to prominence, and an older man when I discovered him through my mother. I did not crush on his appearance. I loved his words, his poetic power, and his complete mastery over the French language. I also loved the facts that he wrote for artists I admired like Barbara and Serge Reggiani.

As a child, I was puzzled by his song called Le Métèque. It is a derogative term, used to degrade foreigners, mainly from the South. To be honest, apart from very very old people in very very old black and white movies, I have never heard anyone use that word in real life. To me, racism within the same race did not make any sense. Apparently, the meaning of the word racism has changed and nowadays people include the notion of systematic oppression and the existence of a political structure to exert the oppression. Apparently, racism is no longer strictly about hatred and a delusional complex of superiority. A friend of mine was very proud to tell me there were no races. He told me the concept was flawed. He was keen to let me know that there was only one race: the human race. Some would argue that human is a species. In the 19th century , some German guy decided that there were actually races. He traveled intensively across the world to make his point. His intent was to establish a hierarchy within different human groups, so as to justify the blood thirst and greed from some nations, and their dominion over others.

Do the words used really matter? Georhe, Georges, Giorgo, Giuseppe . Giuseppe Mustacchi was the real name of Georges Moustaki. Legend said he took the name Georges in honor of French singer Georges Brassens. I thought for the longest time, he was asked to make his name sound more French to be adopted by the French audience. This man could speak French, Italian, Greek, English, Portuguese, Spanish and Arabic, as he was born in Egypt.
Speaking a foreign language is not only about sounding cooler, more intelligent or even sexier, it is also about having access to another culture, a whole new world. George's family sounded like mine. Nobody in my family speaks only one language. When my dearest told me he viewed himself as a citizen of the world, I should not have been surprised. So many people were born in a place, but live in a whole different country. Some of us speak a language at work, then another language with their partner. Some of us have two different languages spoken in the family.
There are so many layers in what constitutes an identity. I should not have been surprised about my right-hand man's statement. He was born in a country. He lives and works in a different one. The language he speaks at work is not the same that the language spoken at home. There is no doubt that his children will be polyglots.

These characteristics might be constitutive of the essence of a citizen of the world. My dearest right-hand man is raising children who will feel at home everywhere. I wish this to all of us: feeling at home everywhere.