All language subtitles for The Black Wogs, Your Neighbors 1974

Welcome, my brothers!

Welcome, my sisters.

So, you've come to the cinema.

That's right: round here
we love the cinema,

and we go there now and then,
after work,

when we happen to have the time,
and the cash.

But listen: cinema...

what exactly does that really mean?

For those of us from Africa,

From the third world?

The "underdeveloped" ones:
peasants, unemployed...

down-and-outs, you know?

Yes, the camera, the lens

the projectors, all that technique!

Who invented all of that, then?

Not us, of course:

it's well known we never
invented machines.

It was the Westerners!

or the toubabs, if you prefer...

And so,
the toubabs created cinema.

First off at home, in France,
England, Germany, the USA,

they produced films in order to
entertain their populations

and, since
they were here in our parts

(they're still here, of course)

they shipped their films over here

to entertain us as well!

Nice of them, right?

Well, we'll get to that later.

So, in order to entertain us,

and also to take from us

some clams - ah -
some money, I mean...

the toubabs built cinemas,

installed their machine,

and, on account of our curiosity,
we came and saw

CI

NE

MA

Le ci - ne - ma!

Remember, yes, remember:

Tarzan! Tarzan,
and his chimp Cheetah!

Or here, La fille de la brousse

Mogambo

Bouboule

Bouboule, the First Black King!

On top of that, there were

the courageous exploiters,

who confronted such dangers
to come civilize us...

And let's not forget
the kind white Fathers

who came
to bring us the Good Word.

One would even see Africans
in those films!

Yes, yes, yes, yes!

One didn't see very much of them,
of course

They were there
to clear the path

with their little knives,
through the bush

to move the gear around!

To help, you know?
That's how things were.

The important thing... and, yes,
here I really want to insist

The important thing
was for it to look real

[ inaudible ]

That one would really
have the impression

that History was
well and truly underway

in Africa, our home.

But...

History...

was never an African history,

of course...

Here we even saw

films

which we were barely able
to understand.

Back then we also had

films that told the stories of
the Europeans.

And since the Europeans were
over here, where we live

we had no choice in the matter.

You will be watching:

like the whites,

the films of the whites,

made by the whites,

for the whites!

And then, there was

the Second World War.

We signed up

just like our parents

our uncles,
our brothers, our cousins,

and went overseas
to die, in Europe,

to save the West

from a Western tyranny...

And you know -
we saw a lot of films there, too!

Yes, yes! they call that the
"African campaigns."

there were Senegalese Rifles
Moroccan Tabors,

Algerian Spahi, and -
the Africans, right? Our brothers...

But that's not all! There were also
Indochinese, Malagasy, Caribbeans

In sum:
everyone that was colonized, right?

Who... who, who, "came to the rescue
of the Mother Country"...

We all of us
do love undying France,

All love her, and love her well,

We love all those
who died on her behalf,

Without this love,
there's nothing to a life

Hello, Captain!
Division, to attention!

Report! Stand to attention!

[ inaudible ]

[ inaudible ]

What a straight back, stiff as a rod,
Coulibaly our soldier

HEAD

RIGHT!

When the trumpets sound,
they move ahead,

No troubled nerves
or shaking fear,

When they charge with their bayonets,
None can resist the tirailleurs!

Stand to attention - Ready!

Around the world he's trod his way,
And fought under every known sky,

Misery knows he, whining he scorns,
Cheerful's the word, you can be sure!

About turn!

HUT!

When the trumpets sound,
they move ahead

No troubled nerves
or shaking fear

When they charge with their bayonets,
None can resist the tirailleurs

About turn!

Right!

Hello, Captain!
Division,

Halt!

At ease!

Don't forget our... soldier...

They really caught us out, eh?

And rest assured,

things haven't changed much.

After...

well, afterwards we got treated to

the American Western.

And - you know, brothers:

in these films with,
uh, loads of stuff,

they killed so many Indians -
you remember, don't you?

Well: nowadays

even the Italians are at it!

Yes, yes, yes!
We call them "spaghetti Westerns"...

and they, too,
continue to kill a lot of Indians!

And all of that we saw here,
where we live

Cinema...

And we laughed so much...

we laughed so much...

to see the Indians fall

like flies.

It never occurred to us
to consider that where we lived

millions of of our brothers

were killed every day

by gangs of white colonialists.

In South Africa,

in Rhodesia...

in Angola,

in Mozambique...

in Guineau-Bissau...

Yes... You have to admit that
we're sometimes quite stupid.

We went to the cinema

and we gobbled up absolutely
everything they showed us...

like sheep.

It never even occurred to us,

not even once,

to think that these films

were poison

It didn't concern us.

They don't speak our language.

They don't speak of our traditions,
our cultures

nor about
our everyday difficulties;

and above all,
not about our problems!

We sleep...

we sleep!

So what,
we let ourselves be put to sleep?

Yes!

But they know very well
what they're doing.

They do everything to ensure
that we sleep, we dream

Because

if one isn't dreaming

one might begin to have questions.

It's dangerous for them if
we start thinking

So...

They confuse us, get us all mixed up,
you could say,

and – just like that –
the game is up.

And we let them do it to us.

And what happens in the meantime?
What do you think?

Well...

Our miserable life carries on,

With everything that entails:

unemployment, hunger;
and on top of that...

some of us leave the village

to seek
our fortunes elsewhere...

fortune... elsewhere...

Yes.

Listen...

As for me, what I'd like

is for them to explain... well...

That in the cinema
they'd explain to us

why there are rich men and poor.

Oh - and the colour
doesn't count, not a bit!

Black, white, yellow: colour
hasn't anything at all to do with it

Above all, I'd like them to explain
why the rich always get richer

and the poor always poorer.

As an aside,
and just between us,

the rich:

they say it's something natural,

but that's not true,

that's not true at all.

And do you know why?

Because they're afraid things
could change, of course!

Yes, yes, yes!

The rich always know what it is
that they're at risk of losing.

As for us,

poor, exploited workers,

we haven't the slightest idea
of our power;

and yet: if we were to want it,

we could transform
the order of things.

The Europe the migrants arrived in
had the following characteristics:

They entered a capitalist system

which divides people
into social classes.

As the basis of this system,
one finds

an immense
accumulation of capitals:

international capitals, which
have no odour.

These capitals did permit,
and do permit,

the construction of factories,

the purchase of inputs,

and the purchase
of the machines needed

to process these inputs.

It's the people who possess and
who manipulate these capitals

who are the real power in our society,

because they own the factories,
the banks, and the enterprises.

But in order
to manage their business,

they need representatives,
people they can trust;

because they themselves
are rarely seen:

they act in the shadows.

They therefore delegate people
to direct the factories,

to organize the work process.

We know these people:
they are the bosses,

So we've got, on the one hand,
the means of production,

and on the other hand the people
who direct them,

who organize the work.

Is that enough
to make the system work?

No: to make this system work,

one needs workers,
to make the machines go;

one needs employees
to fill out forms;

one needs people
to sell the products.

So it's the whole mass of workers

who make this system work.

And the proof of this is simple:

when all the workers
decide to strike,

then this whole gargantuan
economic machine stops,

the factories are dead.

We can go still further, and
pose the question:

Where, finally, do these capitals
come from?

Which have permitted
this economic system to spread?

These capitals are, quite simply,
the fruits

of the accumulation of the profits

made by these capitalist groups

on the backs of the workers,
over generations and generations.

We have therefore on one side
the bourgeois class,

which controls the industrial and
commercial monopolies,

and which exploits
the working class.

But between these two classes,

there is a middle class

which is composed of many
kinds of people, of workers,

who sometimes lean towards the
bosses' side,

and sometimes towards the side
of the proletariat.

In general, we can say that
on one side of this middle class

there are the senior managers,

the little directors,
the engineers

and other university types

who... to whom is given a tiny bit
of power and authority,

and to whom they also share out
crumbs from the profits.

These people
- managers, technocrats -

are inclined sometimes towards
the bosses,

because they hope to gain as much as
possible from the system,

and perhaps they think that one day
they, too, might become bosses.

On the other side, one finds
the mass of middle managers,

of line-managers and technicians,

whose condition is in fact barely
better than that of the workers

and who for that reason often ally
with the working class.

These divisions are maintained
intentionally

by the bourgeois class,

which opposes
the big boss to the petty

and the petty manager
to the worker;

because by dividing in this way
the workers

they hope to reign in tranquility,

and not to awake one morning

to find opposed to them a united
and compact mass of workers

that would seize their power.

For there is, at the core of
this system, a war:

there is a class war between
those who exploit,

and those who are exploited.

In this war, which opposes
the exploiters to the exploited,

there are external elements
which intervene,

and which come
to the aid of the bosses.

I am speaking of the army,
of the police,

and also of the whole arsenal
of the laws:

the civil laws
and the religious laws,

which are finally in the service
of the state.

And this state is in turn in service
to the bosses

[ inaudible ]

For what is the state, finally?

If not
the official representative

of the capitalist groups which
there, too

remain in the shadows,

putting in the first rank
stuffed suits instead.

This is the situation into which
the immigrants arrive

They find their place within it
beneath the French proletariat.

There's truth in that, friends.

Without us,

the rich

can not enrich themselves.

Yes, yes, yes, yes.

< inaudible >

Let's get back to cinema.

The stuff
they distribute hereabouts,

all through the African continent,

this cinema
that they flood us with:

it's all lies!

And 85% of the films are made

and controlled
by foreign companies.

This cinema - in which the lives of
the people of the third world

are never broached...

So we know that the producers of
these films have an interest in us:

to fill their coffers...

[ inaudible ]

There is a danger
looming over us, brothers.

And - if we're not careful -

this precious cultural tool

of education,
of relaxation, of struggle

which cinema is -

could be lost to us forever.

Soon...

They'll try to draw us into the trap of
a new cinema called 'African',

in which
the cowboys will be replaced

with lords dressed up à l'Africaine,

and beautiful negresses putting
their charms on display...

And that's without mentioning
the whole traditional repertoire.

But - the contents of these films

will not be at all what
we were expecting.

Pay attention, brothers!

Soon, skilled craftsmen

will take over from today's
producers and directors;

and even if, so far, films have only
come from Hollywood, London, Paris

soon enough, they'll come from
Johannesburg, you know,

there in the south of Africa,
segregation's fortress.

Soon, these films will be
made on location

By our own brothers!

Who will become the docile and
obedient servants

of the same foreign companies

to put us all to sleep

once again.

It's against these
dangers that we must act.

And the only way to escape them

is the nationalisation
of the cinemas

and of the circuits of distribution.

Yes...

What we need

is a national cinema.

Be calm, brothers.

All things in their proper time.

There is a time to accept;

There is a time to reflect;

There is a time - to speak the truth.

Today

is the time.

O! Sun films presents

a long, long story

a long, long, long film

The Bicots Nègres

Your neighbours

God be praised, god be praised,

The colonisers came,
the colonisers came,

God be praised.

The colonisers imprisoned us,

they tortured us,

they strangled us,

God be praised.

From our land they chased us,

into our land they trampled us,

from our bodies
they built a market,

God be praised.

The people awoke,

the people recovered,

the people revolted,

God be praised.

The colonisers had to turn back,

the colonisers had to retreat,

They had already
so deeply divided us,

God be praised.

So independence came,

Granted by
the hand of the coloniser,

For a long time,
they kept us blind,

God be praised.

Our brothers gathered up the power,

for which we had fought,

But just as before,
the prisons are full,

Like the colonisers,
our brothers torture us,

God be praised.

Like the colonisers,
they trample us,

And for us nothing has changed.

But once again the people leave
the shadows,

Break their chains, fight
against exploitation,

and today, it directs its weapons,

against the brother-traitors,

against the brother-colonisers,

God be praised, God be praised.

The situation is bad.

The issue is
that our grand strategists

think that Algeria
is as good as lost.

That will take one year,
two, five...

We're seeking to stay on in order to
save whatever can be saved.

Even though
I don't share this opinion,

I must obey.

And so do all of you, gentlemen.
- Yes,

The boss has given very exact
instructions.

He has been conferring in secret
with the big players:

that is, the great captains of
national industry,

not the blatherers in the assembly
or the deputy ministers.

Their conclusion, in two words:

The insurrectionists
can't throw us out,

but we don't have the wherewithal
to neutralize them.

They have the support of the
communist bloc,

of the Arab countries;

even our most important allies,

notably the Americans,

have their games.

They covet
our African territories.

As you can see, the vultures
are already on the horizon.

Amongst us today we have

the Japanese, the Americans, and
the West Germans.

No doubt you are surprised
to see them here

We caught some of them
having a discreet word

with our tribal leaders

So we preferred to invite them all
to this 'family weekend'.

This way, nothing they're up to
will escape our notice.

At least - today...

Good. Now if the boss is making war
in Algeria last it's mainly

and in the first place

to give us the time to safeguard
French interests in black Africa.

The purpose of our mission is

to find solutions based on the studies
carried out in recent months

by the specialist commissions.

- But the important thing

is to stop
the Algerian contagion

from spreading here,
across the Sahara

and, since the slogan

of the anti-French forces is
'independence' -

well,
we'll give them independence.

All the specialists
are in agreement

we must grant independence

to nip in the bud the operations
of the Nationalist agitators.

The problem is to know - how?

So let's proceed in a logical way

Let's look at the countries one by one
and reassess their importance to us.

That'll help us.

That is exactly what I
wanted to propose.

Let's start with the most important
case: Nesegal!

It is the oldest of our
African colonies,

the most faithful, the most
integrated, naturally...

It's a base of vital importance for the
durability of French influence.

That's quite right - but don't forget
its economic importance.

Commercially, it's a big deal.

And then there's peanut,

the possibility of new mines,
phosphate and so on...

In Voiricôte there's the cocoa,
the coffee,

the wood, the [ inaudible ]

With Gadamaskar we need to consider
its strategic importance.

As for Mekarun, it's one of the
most beautiful flowers.

But there, we've no choice:

the nationalists have
launched an armed struggle:

They have to be suppressed, or else
the contagion will be unstoppable.

What's more, the
leader's of modest origins...

He's a fox...

All you have to do
is watch him closely

Because, on the day that he's
free of these movements...

What about Tamaurany?
Its iron is of vital importance to us.

Its copper too: it's one of the only
mines in the French zone

and other exploitations also
look rather promising...

What's really urgent is to pre-empt
its absorption into Romacco...

The Awalites are reliable allies,

but will they be able to hold out
against Ben-Bark's revolutionaries?

How to proceed?

Many problems...

Should we grant independence
one by one, or in groups?

French West Africa,
French East Africa...

The experts are divided.

A small territory alone in gaining
independence

is a more manageable partner:

weaker,
by comparison with France.

But it also means a smaller market
for our investments, for our traders.

The solution is, in
my opinion, obvious:

independence bit by bit,

while maintaining free-trade zones

corresponding more or less to the
territories that we've created.

Everything must, in any case,
keep the Franc,

with freedom of movement for
capital and goods, and so on...

This leaves open the crucial
problem of the moment:

How to ensure that this independence
we'll generously give

- [ laughter ]
- No, seriously

that this independence

does not exceed the limits
we assign to it.

The African leaders

put in place by the reform act,

and who have been under the tutelage
of our governors for three years,

give all the guarantees of reliability

and fidelity to France one could
wish for.

So we just get them to sign
the agreements

ratifying all that was just said,

and on top of that giving France

the right
to maintain, indefinitely

the military bases.

It's also necessary to "shadow" them,
if I can put it that way,

with discreet and effective
French counsellors,

of whom
they'll have great need, anyway.

Come the moment, one must know
how to adapt

The counsellors will gradually be
withdrawn from the limelight,

but the essential has to
remain in place.

All the same, there is a danger
if one lets so much

depend on
the faithfulness of one man...

Not everything
will depend on them!

In every country there are circles
that have been won over by our cause:

sure allies, amongst whom we can find
replacements, if necessary.

What's more, these men depend
entirely upon us.

Without us, after all, how would they
maintain their position?

To cite a few examples to you,

there is Ulber Yufu,

once a priest, with a taste
for luxury:

he's depraved,
he's relinquished everything,

even the church has spat him out.

He has nothing left
except our support.

Bei Tombab, a typical creature
of our colonial administration,

profoundly penetrated by respect
for the Republic, and for France

Al-DouDou - colonial translator:
discreet, disciplined, honest...

with an unconditional loyalty:
he owes everything to us.

He doesn't have even the semblance
of a political base,

it's the model case.

Fou-boignat - once the leader of the
nationalist opposition in the AOF,

he was a considerable opponent
for our country.

That makes his coming over to us
all the more important,

and his pro-French convictions
more solid.

Did he not, after all,
go so far as to take

France's side at the United Nations?

Against the communist and Arab
detractors in the Algerian affair.

Oh, he's
the most reliable of them all.

Still,
you are forgetting in all this

the Francophone minstrel
of Négritude!

Francophone... that's sweet...

You, my dear, have invented the
formula we were missing:

"The Francosphere."

Since Colbert
and his 'colonial pact',

the way we name our possessions
has changed over the centuries

according to
the historical conjuncture:

'French Empire',

'French Union',
'France Outre-Mer',

'French territories', lately
'French community.'

But it's important
not to delude ourselves.

'Francophony',
on the other hand,

is a notion based on a community
of language, of culture.

This cultural heritage we've
given to Africa

won't disappear any time soon.

And it's the best guarantee

of our long-term influence.

But, gentlemen, time presses!

I must remind you that today we must
sign the 'neo-colonial pact';

of course, by that I mean the
'co-operation agreements'.

We asked these gentlemen who
happened to be in Paris on business

to share with us their
valuable experiences...

Mr Kangalène...

Kangalène:

President, French chamber of
Commerce of Kadar

Vice-president of the council
of the port of Kadar

Member of the Committee for
Foreign Trade of Nesegal

Administrator of the
railway line of Nesegal

Administrator of the
post-office of Nesegal

Administrator
of the Office of Tourism

Administrator of the CACIP

Administrator of the FISA

Administrator of the
Office for Social Housing

Member of the Administrative
Commission for Hospitals

Member of the Council of
the University of Kadar

Senior member
of the Monetary Committee

Member of the Council of
the Alliance Française

Member of the Senior Council of
Aid for Lepers, etc, etc.

Maldesse, member of the Economic and
Social Council of Nesegal

President/Director-General of the
Africa-France Society

previously the "French Association,"
Nesegal

Treasurer of the Bordeaux Chamber
of West African Commerce

Administrator of the
Auxilliary-African Society

for the development of trade,
industry, and agriculture

In West Africa,

President of the
Manutention africaine, etc etc...

Bonareine,
President of the firm AMI

Administrator of...
administrator of...

We know Africa rather well.

The Africans aren't bad people: you
just have to know how to...

We, the people of Africa,
owe you infinite thanks.

Solong:

On behalf of all Japan, I assure you
of our eternal, and fraternal, support.

We, the people of Africa,
owe you infinite thanks.

Getting independence was hard,

and we will always obstinately
defend democracy.

At last our industrial capacity
will be put to use.

Developing countries, auf Wiedersehen.

Wir sehen uns
bald wieder besten Dank.

We, the people of Africa,
owe you infinite thanks.

- This way, gentlemen -
if you would follow us.

Brothers, I haven't brought you
here to utter hypocrisies,

But to show to you two things:
the path of Good, and that of Evil.

God and his Prophet say:
steer clear of Evil.

The path of evil is that of the
infidel reactionary,

and the troublemakers who say:
don't vote Yellow!

Don't believe them.

they're liars, traitors!

Thanks to the Yellows,

your children can go to school,

be treated at the hospital.

Vote yellow! and there'll
be no unemployment.

Instead, peace and happiness for all.

You must all vote Yellow!

Voting Yellow didn't save my Father

from three years of unemployment!

My Father who polished the
shoes of the tourists!

My mother, who's sick with not even a
penny to look after herself!

You, you don't have
the right to be here.

Why is that?

First of all, you're not 21 yet.

On top of that,
you're an agitator.

We know you.
We have our eye on you.

Watch out.

I'm an agitator because I speak
the truth?

And you who listen to him
with your mouth gaping open:

this guy's lying to you.

He can't do anything for you,
he's paid to lull you to sleep.

I need a certificate to send
my son to hospital.

They told me to wait. I'm waiting.

My son died yesterday.

I need a certificate to bury him.

They told me to wait.
I'm waiting.

They say my brother died in France
two months ago

I want to know how, and why.

They stole
my plot of land, stole it!

I'm not leaving here without my
plot of land.

Jeloul:

Come in Madam.

- What do you want?
- I need papers to hospitalize my son.

You can't afford his treatment?

My husband doesn't work.

Ah, he's unemployed...

Come back in 15 days. Wait!

Got your voting card?

- Yes, sir
- Show it to me.

Here it is.

Come back in two months.

Get out of here!

You! No, not you! You!

- What is it?
- I need a certificate to bury my son.

What did he die of?

Cholera, sir

That costs 10,000 francs

God bless you.

- Hello.
- What do you want?

A passport.

A passport?
What's your profession?

Student.

- Student? What's your name?
- Abdul Hamid

Abdul Hamid...

- A passport costs money.
- How much?

Let's have a look: 50 francs
for the stamps,

enough
to buy Jaloul a few drinks,

whisky
for the Executive Secretary,

Not to forget the Commissioner
who signs the passport...

So it's going to be
around 50,000.

50,000 francs...

Bring 50,000 francs.
Your passport will be ready.

Goodbye. May God protect you.

Don't forget the 50,000 francs!

50,000 francs
should help things along.

So, the dossier's ready,
everything's in order.

Not the commissioner's signature,

but don't worry, it'll be there
in 15 days.

Come back in a month.
Hopefully it'll all go well.

- One month? You're sure?
- That's what I said.

Alright, goodbye.

God protect you!

What's up with you?
Blood rushing to your head?

Leave my blood out of it!

Don't worry, this
should calm you down:

here's your passport,
signed, ready: see?

There's no need
to get all worked up.

Listen...

You want to work abroad?

Here's a good tip:

Go via Atar in Mauritania,
I have a brother there.

He'll help with things.

But don't tell anyone that
I asked for money.

Give me 10,000 more francs...

I'm not going to Atar!

I'm not going to Italy,
or to Belgium, or to France.

My place is here.

You have something
to account for!

I don't need a passport anymore.

Here or elsewhere,
you're all the same.

We'll settle our accounts, here,
in this country.

Shut up and get into that room.

What is your profession? Answer.

- Student.
- Of which organisation?

I don't know anyone.

Your relations
with the communists?

I don't know anyone.

You've been to China?
You studied in China?

No, in France!

You know Charban?

- I know Charban Darrandan.
- Who is that?

The colonisers are going to kill

Who finds you money? Weapons?

- No-one.
- How many are you?

I don't know

Mother... Mother... Mother...

They have killed me.

Millions of men and women

are victims of drought and
famine in Africa

because neo-colonialism
did nothing to help,

To point out this fact...

My name is Sidna.

I came to France in 1962.

In the beginning I worked as
a cleaner, a street-sweeper,

and then
I looked for another job.

I was recruited as a shopkeeper
by l'alsacienne.

Meanwhile
I looked for better work.

I went to Renault, at Flins,
where I got a job in 1966.

Flins is very far from where
I was living.

I asked for a transfer to
Boulon-Billancourt,

to be closer to the factory.
Renault refused.

I had to leave Flins to
go to Boulon-Billancourt,

where I was hired,
on February 26th 1968.

I worked on
all sorts of machines.

My quarters were unheated in winter
so when I could pay I took a hotel.

Not having enough money,
I fell ill on April 2nd 1970.

I was hospitalized
until December 3rd.

When I left the hospital
I returned to Renault.

Because I was convalescing,

they put me in a "social workshop,"
where the pace was less brutal.

One day the supervisor came and
berated us for no reason:

We were working
the same as usual.

I told him not to scold us
for no reason.

Then he threw a fit and said:

"Why do you talk back, and
not the others?"

"Maybe you know French better?"

I said, "I'm a free man.
I have the right to respond."

"We're ill - and we're doing our work.
You shouldn't harass us."

The foreman got furious,
and said:

"Oh, and suddenly you're
a lawyer as well?"

"You Africans are all the same."

"One of you shows up,
he needs a hand,"

"you help - but cash in hand,
he turns into a raging bull."

"You've become like that."

I said: "We're going to have words.
You shouldn't insult me."

"Oh, I spent 25 years in
Africa, I know your type."

I wanted to go home,

but I remembered what had
happened to me in Mauritania,

When I was working under
a European foreman.

The work was hard, and after a year
they wanted to move me.

The foreman, who
wanted to keep me, said:

"If you leave me,
I'll send you back."

I said: "This is my country.
It's me who should send you back."

The next day I was fired.

It was on that day
that I decided to emigrate,

hoping to escape
this kind of treatment.

But where should I go now?

If you think to speak
about those distant lands

Where misery and hunger can kill

The infants of Biafra,
and the little Indians

Just two steps from my door

Go, see my neighbours

In the phonebook you won't
ever see their names

Moussa, Mohammed, and Salem

And you'll find it hard
To find the right way

Just two steps from my door

Go, see my neighbours

The concierge said to me
that they're of no use at all

That they don't have the manners
that Christians do

That they breath our air,
and eat of our bread

Just two steps from my door

Go, see my neighbours

It's true that our granddads
were all upstanding men

That they had all the manners
that Christians do

When they took the land of Africa
from the Africans

Just two steps from my door

Go, see my neighbours

They made of these men -
your granddads, and mine -

sweepers of streets, and
cannon fodder for the line

For, although bread is dear

their lives don't cost a thing

Just two steps from my door

Go, see my neighbours

in the misery-contests

their hovels stand a chance

Against New Delhi,
Calcutta, or Harlem

It's just as picturesque

And is closer by far

Just two steps from my door

Go, see my neighbours

You will see them wandering
from Montrouge to Pantin

And yet,
they may well, one morning

Come to wake you up,
you who so soundly sleep

Just two steps from my door

Go, see your neighbours

If you would like to speak
of those distant countries

Where despair and hunger kill

The infants of Biafra,
and the little Indians

Just two steps from my door

Go, see my neighours

Just two steps from your door

Go, see your neighbours

Money is the crucial point.

Where we're from,
it always comes...

From outside,
that is to say the West.

Europe, America...

With their various
agencies, these countries

manufacture here, in our home.

"Investing", they call it.

But if they invest over here,

It's because we have riches
that they don't have.

Which means, in other words,
that we too are rich.

For example,
we have iron and copper,

Petrol, peanuts,
and many other things:

What we call, in general,
'raw materials'.

These raw materials don't exist
where they're from.

So they come
with their specialists,

dig some mines, build factories.

Once the factory is built,

they need people
to make it work.

At this point,
the money-monopoly recruits

technicians, upper management,
and European specialists,

all of which costs a lot.

After that, they contract
the labour-power.

That is: those of us
who were already here,

which costs them, in general,
almost nothing.

These people,
where do they come from?

And what did they do before? Before,
there were no factories, almost none.

In order
to be able to grow crops,

the peasant must have recourse
to his lord,

whether it's to rent
the agricultural tools

or to borrow
the agricultural tools,

which forces him to spend
over 3/4 of his harvest

to pay the rentiers their rent.

In the end, his harvest

isn't enough to live on.

Because on one hand,

he must pay the rent,

On the other hand he must pay
his debts and his taxes.

For example, the state says: "this year,
we need a lot of peanut oil."

So - everyone cultivates
more and more peanuts.

And, once...

those...

all these tonnes
of harvested peanuts,

which they grew instead of growing
anything else,

Other plants which would be

necessary both for peasant
and for the country itself,

the world market says to him:

This year, peanut's only worth
so-and-so much,

even though it was worth
twice as much last year.

So what does the peasant do?

He must sell his harvest to any
country that's buying,

because it's
his only means of existence.

As we have seen earlier,
the money-monopoly

is always situated outside,

that is...

here, for example...

right...

With this money,

He transforms these products,

adding value to them.

Some of it locally,

and also all over the world,

And another part
is returned here

in the form of finished products

with a higher value,

twice as expensive.

So first of all,

we pay for these products twice.

First, we pay for them
by the sweat of our brow,

and without being paid well;

and secondly, we pay for them

with the little bit of money
that our sweat has brought forth.

Therefore, this generalized
exploitation exists,

because once again

neither the peasants
nor the state were ever

able to decide
about anything at all.

Everything is decided outside
the country.

According, once again, to the needs
of the capitalist countries.

These peasants
are therefore obligated

to leave the land
that they hold dear

and to go to
the big towns and the cities.

and into the foreign factories.

In these great towns where we
want to work

there isn't enough work,

because they're places where,
for every available post,

there are at least
100 or 200 applicants.

In the end, we're forced to leave
our homeland,

our respective countries,

and emigrate
to the Western countries.

[ inaudible ]

Le fascisme ne passera pas!

[ inaudible ]

Le fascisme ne passera pas!

[ inaudible ]

Le fascisme ne passera pas!

Cops, Bosses,
Fascists and Murderers,

Hello?

Hello Madame, could you
put the taxman through please?

For Mr... Oh, sorry,
excuse me, Madame...

Excuse me...

Hello? Hello?

Ah zut... no, no...
excuse me, excuse me...

Murderers!

Shit...

It can't be!

What a joke -
why do we pay for this?

They're taking the piss!

Hello! Hello?!

Oh for God's sake, no way.

And to think that you have
to pay for this!

They're treating me
like a dickhead.

They'd eat the skin off your back,
they want everything!

For fuck's sake,
I couldn't give a shit about...

These lazy fucking coppers!

They can't be fucked
to do their jobs...

they're just hanging
around with their dicks out.

What a bunch of cunts,
they should shut the fuck up.

What the fuck
are they screaming about?

[ inaudible ]

I pay for this shit,
I pay and get nothing!

I don't even have a phone,
fuck the lot of them.

It's a racket out there,
I'm closing this.

Cops, Bosses,
Fascists and Murderers!

Cops, Bosses,
Fascists and Murderers!

The faggots!

Arsefucked, the lot of them.

Shit, this isn't their turf,
they should shut it!

And this fucker he's not working,
nothing fucking works over here.

Oh shit! Oh, shit!

This is too much,
I'm going to...

I'm going to...

Zut...

What a fucking mess.

We're fucked,
they're out to get my skin.

They're out to get my skin.

My skin, those sons of bitches.

Skin of those fuckers.

Yeah...
if you don't pay up before...

we'll be forced
to add another 10%.

Why 10%, why that much?

First you have to pay,

then they fuck you in the arse.

At last
this is the final struggle

Group up - and tomorrow

the internationale

- I work, me, I work!
- ...shall all humanity be

- Always these tricks in the holidays...
- ...the final struggle...

- the electricity! And then the gas!
- Group up - and tomorrow

- But how on earth can I pay that, how?
- The internationale

- It's all bullshit
- ...shall all humanity be

Bandiera rossa, bandiera rossa

Avanti popolo, alla riscossa

I'm fucked, they've fucked me,
we're all cunts

And we just bite our tongues...

We bite our tongues!

These arseholes...

These shitheaps.

These shitheaps sounding off.

As if there was anything left
to break in this whore of a society.

Look at the lot of them.

They're fags, nobodies,
niggers, bicots!

longhairs, hippies, faggots!

One solution - revolution!

If only I had a bomb.

No one understands your
gibberish, you morons!

Oh, if only I had a bomb I'd chuck it
into these faggot's faces!

All united - French and immigrants!

Faggots, you lot!

Down with slavery!

But where did he come from,
this guy?

I'm warning you!

Well, look - first of all...

do you speak French, you?

But, but - how did you get in?

And do want in here,
it's my home!

It's MY HOME in here!

You want me to shoot you or what?
Great, no problem, I'll shoot you!

Sure, I'll shoot you!

Where did that stupid bitch
put my gun?

Too dumb to clean the place,
doesn't even know where things go.

Fine, it's the cops you're after!
Right then, I'll call them up.

Fuck, well, I won't call them, know why?
The fucking telephone's not working!

And when they do come,
you're already dead.

You could die in a ditch,
like that.

But dear God what kind of
fucking horseshit is this?

But what do you want, what...
what do you want?

It's tough, brother

I'm... to start with
I'm not your fucking brother

I don't know you,
this is my place.

I don't know you...

Life's tough, isn't
it? Yes, yes, yes...

Yes, it's tough.
Sure, sure, won't you sit down?

Or maybe I should get you
something to drink??

Huh... sure, that
would be great, thanks.

Thanks...

Well great then,
I'll get you a drink.

Never seen anything like it...
Here are your drinks, sir!

I'm sorry, this is all I have,
so you'll have to put up with it.

Maybe you'd like me to
polish your shoes?

Right, I'm at your service,
I'm listening.

Get your tools out;
and I'll tell you right away,

if it's work you're after,
I don't have any.

Well,
I heard you screaming just now

I thought you might need help,
so I came up

Ah, so you're one of the vandals

I haven't vandalized anything yet.

Me, I don't like being insulted.

I'm not to blame for your problems.

Take them out on yourself...

Well, as for problems
there's a lot to talk about!

You lot, in your countries:
you're dying of hunger!

And that's why you're here, isn't it?
Well, go on...

Yes, where I'm from it's true
that we die of hunger.

But I'm exploited here as well.

There and here: all the same.

You, too are exploited.

The difference is that you've got
a car, a telly,

you've got a nice apartment.

Your whole life you've tried to
look like those who exploit you,

And then you die,
with a heart full of guilt.

And you've got a solution in mind
to end the exploitation of man by man?

I don't have
a readymade solution.

I'll tell you what I want,

it's "every man for himself"!

Because - yeah, sure,
you think it's funny!

The rule's "every man for himself"

- "Every man for himself"
- Yes

And has that helped you?

- Oh.. well...
- But you should help yourself!

Look, as for me, I really don't know
where I'm at.

But I can tell you something:
I've had it up to here.

Perhaps we could try and find out
why you're had it up to there?

Perhaps we could try and find out
why you're exploited?

Ouf...
finding this, finding that...

How to look, how to look?

It's easy to say: find out.
The problem is to know where to look.

Finding out...

Well of course I can't give you
a readymade solution.

- That's for sure.
- Well, there you are!

No, I've no readymade solution.

It's just that - me, you
and all the rest... - Yes?

- Perhaps we could find a solution?
- Yes...

By putting our heads together
and thinking it through.

- Sure
- But you know...

maybe what we're after...

is Socialism?

Socialism?

Socialism, like what,
those guys out there or what?

Now look here:
what does it mean, socialism?

No one even knows what it is!

Socialism is the end of
your exploitation,

of my exploitation.

It's control by all of us

over the management of our lives.

And even though
it's easy enough to talk

of authoritarian, of
left- or of right-socialism,

you and I could try and create
an exemplary socialism.

Don't you think that would be exciting?

Better than settling down
with some old bag, anyway...

I'd prefer to die crying
out for my mother

curled up alone on a straw bed

instead of
your dickhead socialism!

Have you tried socialism out, then?

That is, by appealing to
the popular masses?

The popular masses... yeah, they like
being put to work, do they, the masses.

- Leave the people the fuck alone
- Sure, sure,

But the 'people' -
that's you, that's me...

so we can't 'leave them alone'...

Yeah

Well -
thanks for talking my ear off...

- Listen to me.
- Yes.

- You
- Yes

- Me, and me
- Yes

Even though I'm from far away,
it's all the same - get it?

You're exploited here,

but we're exploited too,
where we're from.

Africa's just the same:

there's a minority
that bosses us about,

and then there's a great mass of
people who are exploited.

And if we put our heads together,

maybe we could manage,
together, to change things.

Yes

Me, what I want is
- let me tell you -

What I would really like...

I understand...

Is to be left in peace!

I'd like to be able to
live happily, peacefully,

and for them to
shut the lot of them up.

It's simple!
Yeah, I think that's...

Sure, it's easy for them to
leave you in peace.

But they don't leave you in peace.
No?

You don't get to tell your boss
that you want this or that.

He does whatever he likes.

He fills his pockets,
instead of you.

Know that the guys up above don't want
to give you peace and quiet.

They need guys like you

to do their politics for
guys-who-want-peace-and-quiet.

If you want peace, perhaps you should
take an interest in your own affairs.

No-one can take that on instead of you;
certainly not the guys above us...

Not those who govern us...
Hmm, politics

That's what politics is...
But I'd like to say something

Politics is full of shit!

Politics covers everything in shit!

Let me tell you something:

I don't want to hear a thing
about politics!

I don't want any politics at all!

- Sure, sure...
- Yes, that's it.

But...
don't you know... can't you see

that saying you don't want politics
is a political act?

It implies leaving the ones above
to do politics on your behalf.

Get it? The guys who govern need
guys like you,

who "don't want politics"...

"Politics" isn't only about
being an MP,

or having a ministerial portfolio -
Haha, that's rich, a "portfolio"!!

How much cash do these guys stuff
in their portfolios? Plenty of room...

A wallet this large!

There, there, there we agree...

So you want to confront people with
wallets of that size?

ooooh lala

They're just...
the reason they're so loaded

is because
you don't want to do politics...

They do politics
because you don't!

And they make us suffer it,

and that's how they pack out
their portfolio,

thanks to the work that we do.

- Yeah...
- You understand?

Yeah... OK

Fine, agreed. Say I'm back in.

So what should we do?

What we have to do is,
first of all,

try and understand something
about our situation

First of all,

we must

try to understand a bit about
the principle of class struggle.

Of the relations of force which
govern our society.

To grasp the fundamental mechanisms
which govern...

Oh la la! No, come on,
that's too much, be kind to me

Not that... because about all of that
I don't understand a thing.

- Look, this is doing my head in.
- Ok, ok

Let's speak simply,
hey, say it simply,

this gobbledygook, I don't get it.
- Alright, alright.

I just want to say that we need to
change the existing structures.

Yes!

The existing structures,

which have already been tested,
which are outmoded,

which have proven to do us
more bad than good:

Let's sweep them away.
- Vandalism.

You just want to vandalize.
There's a name for that: vandalism...

Sweep away, smash to bits,
they're the same!

"Vandal, vandal, sweep away,
smash to bits, they're the same"

You can't have this peace without
doing politics, we agree on that

No, it's, we don't agree!
You say so, but -

I'm - ok - alright, I agree.

We can't do - well -
let's do politics, then.

Where are we off to? Tell me.

- Politics - now you're up for it?
- Sure

- So we'll do politics
- We will.

And all together we'll try to
change the situation.

If you want to call that "vandalism",
fine: we'll vandalize.

And after that
we'll build socialism.

- Socialism again!
- That's right.

But I... what if your socialism
doesn't suit me?

What if I don't want it, your socialism?
- Ah

What if it's wrong your socialism?

Blow it up and start again!

- Again??
- Yeah, sure

- Start again - eternally start again?
- That's right.

And where is it going to lead us,
all this destruction?

Towards happiness.

- Towards happiness?
- Yes,

We're looking for our happiness.

Yes yes yes, yes No,

In case
a structure doesn't suit you,

say, an old car – you break it,

and then we'll have to
find another one.

So: if a political structure
doesn't suit you

you smash it up.

hmm

Right then,
let's smash stuff up.

I... let's smash it up.

You've become a vandal!

No, come on, it's
just a figure of speech!

Right, I say let's smash things,

but you're tricking me into
saying nonsense!

OK, let's say we smash things up,

And where's that going to get us?

The revolution...

That's right - one, two,

maybe even many revolutions

- Many revolutions...
- Yes

What is it, the revolution?

- The revolution?
- Yeah

It's the old car that
doesn't go anymore,

that you chuck on the scrapheap.

In a way...

- The old one... onto the scrapheap
- Yes.

- Hey, tell me...
- Yes?

Do you think we can get away
with saying that?

They're going to get scared.

We decided to tell them
the whole truth, didn't we?

Oh yeah,
TRUTH NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH,

AND EVERY WORD OF THE TRUTH!

The speech of the prime minister

about how we were all going to get
housed before January '72...

[ inaudible ] has forgotten about us.

He's already forgotten about us.

The cops always show up
to bother us in the dorms.

We started a strike to demand
to be rehoused somewhere else.

The Paris Prefecture intervened.

There was the TAS,
the Technical Assistance Service,

who came to intimidate the guys,

to set us against each other.

The Sarakole, for example,
against the Toucouleurs,

by saying that the Toucouleurs
were braver than the Bambara,

and also by saying,
when they came,

that they didn't want to speak
with everyone;

but only with the village chiefs,
the chiefs of the group.

They tried absolutely everything
to divide us,

but they didn't manage it,

because everyone understood

that whether you were a Bambara
or a Toucoleur

whether you were Sarakole,
noble or slave,

we were all living in shit,

and that we all had
the same problems.

And the French organizations
during the strike?

At the beginning
they did good work.

But afterwards, as the workers
started to get more involved,

they withdrew
into a supporting role.

Who was it who initiated the strike?
you, or the French organizations?

It's us who started the strike.

The French organizations
supported us.

The French in Africa
got a warm welcome.

They've got it all:

villas, cars, all that...

In Africa everything good
is reserved for the French.

But for us in France -
we've the right to the slums.

Under such conditions,
we will continue our strike,

without being divided,

until we're rehoused.

The Prefecture
wants to divide us.

But we'll never let ourselves
be divided.

We're no different from
any other workers:

we make demands.

Undivided, we will continue
our struggle

for decent living conditions.

Here's the model housing
the migrants dream of.

Self-financed by
the fonds de l'action sociales

There are three beds per room,
120 Franc per bed a month

28 bedrooms per floor

leaving out the running costs,
where do these millions end up?

Are the French racist to you?

Yes, of course,

racism follows us everywhere.

In Paris's suburbs, in the metro,
and at the factory...

When you see an ad for work,

when you show up,

they say
the post's already filled.

As for housing -
when they see us

they say that the room's
already been let.

When you ask for a metro ticket,

they give you two -
then have a go at you.

Of course immigrant workers

come to the capitalist countries
alone to look for work.

They don't bring their wives
or their children,

for various economic reasons:

the cost of the trip,
the housing conditions here, etc...

Living alone,
of course totally unintegrated

into the industrial cities
in which they work,

they're forced to traverse
a profound desolation

of their emotional,
moral, family life.

Hello.

I don't go with coloured guys,
for you it's further along.

What are you doing there,
tell me, my cousin?

On this pavement at Blanlà.

If your mother were to see,

there's no doubt she'd cry.

Pal, you're too curious...

My ruin's none of your business.

If you can't pay straight up,

get out of my sight immediately.

Tell me, cousin,

What are you doing
on this pavement at Blanlà?

Me, I work at Renault.

Together, we could do better...

Fine words and high hopes
don't bring home the bacon.

A room in the attic and a bowl of rice
won't make me happy.

Please, cousin, tell me:

explain to me, in detail,

why you, more beautiful
than an Asphodel,

why you're involved in this trade?

Listen mate,
just forget about me.

You're not a priest or a cop:

I don't need your pity.

Give that to your mummy instead.

Cousin, allow me to say:
your insight's already something.

For 400 years
we've bent our backs,

and nothing's changed
over the years.

In the old country, you said,

the future's to be found in Paris.

if you want to learn a trade,
the Bumidom will take you in.

Cousin, we're like sieves.

One could think
that we like it that way.

Cousin, if we don't take a stand

we're set for filth and grime.

When I arrived here, they chucked me
into a hospital

with a brush and a sponge,

just good enough to wipe asses.

I understood quickly enough,
and I didn't think twice:

In the world of the erotic,
exoticism is the highest fashion.

Now I don't sing anymore,

and I'm never
short of cash anymore.

If the same isn't true for you,

don't come asking what I sell.

Well, sister,

how are things?

I don't fuck around around
with broke negroes.

Go further on.

- Hello.
- Hello.

What do you want?

Well... a room

There aren't any.

A room for the night.

It's full.

But it doesn't say 'full' anywhere.

I said there are no rooms.

What's going on?

- Ah, it's for a room...
- For the night.

Go... get lost...

But... isn't this a hotel?

Beat it.

- But we can pay!
- I've got money.

You'd have been better off
staying in Algeria!

Going to tell us where your
brother is, then?

[ inaudible ]

So, going to say?

You'll speak!

The police who always come into
our homes without a warrant,

came to look for my 12-year-old kid

because he nicked a bike.

His sister Malika, who's 8,
had come to warn him.

The police beat her and beat her.

When I got back,
I found her unconscious.

At the hospital they told me
that she died of fear,

and not because
the police had hit her.

They assassinated Cabral.

They killed Ben Barka,
they killed Lumumba

and today, Hamchari

How far will they go?

Who can say how many assassinations
they've done?

They've killed thousands
of our brothers,

but they cannot kill us all.

It's up to us to make sure that
their reign comes to an end.

In any case, when they don't kill
the migrants,

they're cornered in their ghettos.

They club them in the back,

they arrest them in the metro,

they don't think of them as
human beings:

work, and keep quiet.

To be tolerated here,

you have to be quiet.

stay weak and pathetic,

and above all, make no demands.

The European nationals

that is, the former colonizers,

and us, the immigrants,

that is, those formerly colonized,

today, colonized in France itself,

we're the modern slaves of
the European economy.

We do the filthiest work,

which barely 2 out of 10 Frenchmen

would be willing to do instead of us.

If we've not yet been kicked out,

It's not out of love

or out of Christian charity:

It's that we cannot be replaced,

or at least not quite yet.

And all the same the French say
we want to eat their bread.

And sure, we're hungry...

But look at things from
their perspective.

Since the 16th century,

slavery, and colonial conquest,

enabled Europe to build up
this enormous capital,

which is the basis of
its modern economy.

Well, fine, that's the past.

And now?

The exploitation
still continues today!

The European companies enrich
themselves, and grow,

thanks to
a near-monopoly of domination

in the third-world in general,
and particularly in Africa.

The looting goes on,

even if the forms and the methods
have changed.

Capitalism has ruined
the mining operations

and above all, in agriculture.

It has impoverished the population,

and forced people to migrate.

That's the truth of it.

And what about the ones
expelled from Nigeria?

When we speak of the Nigerians:

Since the Ghanaian Togoans of
the Volta were thrown out,

the factories are dead.

Why is that?

Because the Nigerian people,

they don't want to do what
the guys used to do.

The 7000 Ghanaian dockers of
the port of Lagos

were never replaced.

Many construction businesses,

3/4 of whose employees
were foreigners,

were forced
to close their doors. Why?

No Nigerian citizen

wanted to work
at the very low wages

at which the foreigners were paid.

The result:

A lot of the country's managers

today find themselves unemployed.

The company for which he works

has shut its doors.
The picture is clear.

And that is exactly the situation
which we find in Europe.

If we all left,

tomorrow,

you can bet that the first to cry

would be the French capitalists.

But what's even more of a scandal

is that Africans are being treated

like strangers in their own country.

The face of our enemy is that of

neo-colonialism in Africa,
and exploitation here.

Be it white, here, or black,
or white there,

it's the same!

even if it's
one of our own brothers...

Us who are here

we're temporary exiles...

Sooner or later,

we have to go back home.

After all,
we mustn't forget that

the solution's to be found at home,
in Africa.

While we're here,

the struggle alongside
the French workers is indispensable.

It's in our interest,

But it's also in theirs...

While respecting our differences,

and our independence,

What we need first of all is
the struggle of the Africans.

The shared struggle of Africans.

Solidarity,

and not charity.

The brothers of the sunlit lands,

I'm going to read a poem by
our Mauritanian comrade.

My Brothers,

You, who come from
the sun-blessed countries,

I know that your eyes and
your hearts are cold.

To France,

Homeland of
the universal rights of man,

This multicoloured republic,
for the sake of which

so many of our own
have given their lives,

even though they were unfree,

because they believed

in the generosity of France:

You were gathered there
in your thousands,

to defend the liberty of
the writhing Gallic Cockerel.

You fought, and died,

in the name of the luminous wager
called 'France'.

A nation victimized by
the blind ambition of Nazi Germany,

Against which you responded:
"Present!" in your thousands,

Like so many others, at Verdun

Murdered at Tobruk, amongst
its desert mountains,

You were gathered
at the camp of Fréjus,

Saint Raphael,

Toulon,

Marseille,

and Marignane.

You were the courageous,

responding to France's call:

"Motherland in danger!""

You born in Ghardaia,

You were Arabs,

An Algerian from Kabyli,

or perhaps you were a Berber,

A goatherd from Atlas,
in South Morocco,

from Sid Ifni;

or perhaps you were
a Tunisian fisherman,

on the coast
of the Mediterranean,

the tanned children of Carthage,

and resident of Gafsa,

a Bedouin
from the South of Tunisia...

Or, were you

a griot storyteller?

a Fula?

a descendant of Malian princes?

Or a Serer
from a long-lineaged family?

A fula from Languère?

Torobés?

Sebbés, or Soubalbés from Fouta?

You were perhaps
one of the Bambara,

the family of Diara,
or Kaita from Ségou;

Soninké from Guidimakha,

from the villages of Diaguili,

from Selibali, or from Selibabi.

You all were victims of
a colonial raid, one night.

You were neither Muslims,

nor Christians, nor Shi'ites,

nor Tijanites, nor Mouridites.

You had warm blood,

and a sweet voice good for
singing the Marseillaise.

One had to liberate Lille,

Roubaix, Tourcoing, and Dunkirk.

You swore to follow Leclerc
all the way to Strasbourg and Metz,

to pray on the plains of
Alsace and Lorraine,

rifle at the shoulder - like them,

you crossed the Rhine
and the Danube

So that Paris could finally become
again France.

Your children have today become
Moors in the land Marrianne;

And, in their turn,

they too are victims.

France...

frightens us.

We have coldness in our eyes,

and in our hearts.

We are not Ayatollahs,
or Sharifs,

but in the factories of France,
we've given the strength of our arms,

the blood and the brains for which
our people paid dearly.

Our youth evaporate,

and, along with it,
our wallets...

But once again they treat us
like plague-bearers.

Between the deaths of
our ancestors, yesterday,

and our survival, today,

there's little
that's changed for us.

My brothers,

we, who come from
the sun-blessed countries,

let us pray together
that there no longer be

even one Arab or African machinist
in any factory of France,

nor a single street-sweeper in Paris.

Africa needs us,

even if it displeases
those who call us

fanatical adepts of the Mullahs,
or tribal Chiefs,

aiming to destabilize France...

My brothers,

Africa calls for us.

France has its problems,

and we have our own.

Know that no-one shall regret
our departure.

We have become undesirable,

scapegoats,

carriers of heavy loads, founts
of evil and misfortune

Like those of Thiaroye,

who fought for
the liberation of France.

As thanks,

they were shot through the stomach:

the gift
of the government of France.

Like us,

they were born under the sun.

Marianne no longer needed them,

and so they had to die

to show that Africa was present

for the liberation of France.

The survivors,

they got medals,

scrap metal
pinned into their bellies.

My friends,

my brothers,

Africa calls to us.

I'm no longer cold.

My eyes aren't cold,

and nor is my heart.

My hands no longer tremble.

I'm marching.

And there's only us

to fight for us.