Magyd Cherfi, the man Eric Zemmour drives crazy

Toulouse’s Magyd Cherfi (Zebda) published a scathing and very virulent, but well-written, column against Eric Zemmour

Twenty-three years ago, France discovered Zebda. This sung rap mixed with pop and North African influences aroused enthusiasm. I remember a concert at the “Rock in all its states” festival in Évreux. Where all the others had failed before, Zebda succeeded in the feat of bringing together fans of rock, rap and French song. Zebda on stage was something. It was moving, as they still said then.

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What is astonishing when we watch Zebda’s clips today is that we have the impression of being in a France that no longer exists. Let’s take the example of the clip for “I think it’s going to be impossible”. In a countryside very home, we see North Africans in the company of women with white or mat complexion, hair blowing in the wind, and a rustic man wearing a typical French beret. Gathered around a large table in a garden, they drink red wine while laughing. And further on, a piglet, which a young girl tenderly caresses. In short, the portrait of a flourishing in rurality. And by forcing the line a little, a Zemmourian conception of the nation. ” In France, we live like the French », Repeated the latter in Nîmes last Saturday.

Only Magyd Cherfi, singer of the group Zebda, does not see it that way.

In a violent text strewn with insults published by Release, he concludes as follows: ” In truth, Zemmour does the dirty work: he is the immigrant of the revenge, the pains-to-enjoy, the cowards and the narrow straight people, he is the bougnoule of the white people asphyxiated by too much complexity, the aristos dislodged from the privileges old. All that makes you half of France and that’s a lot ».

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Intentionally provocative, this conclusion is nonetheless quite disgusting.

One part of the readers will applaud, the other will be indignant. In his diatribe, Magyd Cherfi vilifies the one he describes as ” the star of ignominy “. His conclusion suggests that he wishes to dethrone him.

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You have to read this column for a good reason: Magyd Cherfi writes well, very well. The anaphora ” I think Is well placed, the terms are often well found. On the form, only the indignant exclamation marks are heavy and ill-inspired in my opinion. Magyd Cherfi is not just a lyricist. It’s still something other than satisfied morale by Laurent Ruquier, the insipid tweets of Jean-Michel Apathie or the threats of Yassine Belattar. But Magyd Cherfi falls into the same pitfall as these: at no time does he go into the field of ideas. And in terms of contempt, it is he who openly despises half of the French. Very average for the one who was the pillar of a group that brings together people who had nothing in common. And which today makes French song tinged with accordion that Brassens would undoubtedly not denigrate.

On the air France Bleu Occitanie, Magyd Cherfi confided that he was not proud to have been so violent. He also said: ” I am not saying that everything is fine, I say that everything is wrong, and I even say that the left and the right have been messing around for forty years [..] The Front National asks good questions and gives bad answers, in a way it’s a wolf who enters the fold “. Now that they are two wolves having in common the vision of a declining France where everything is going wrong, will Magyd Cherfi and Eric Zemmour shake hands? We can dream, but a debate between Cherfi and Zemmour would still be more exciting than a debate between Hidalgo and Xavier Bertrand. Until then Magyd, prepare your arguments and above all, purge your indignation of the Zemmour phenomenon by making us beautiful songs.

On the integration of Muslims in Toulouse, the speech of Magyd Cherfi is very fluctuating

In 2016, in My part of Gauls, Magyd Cherfi tells the story of her family who settled in France at the beginning of the 1960s in an HLM housing estate in Toulouse. It is raised in a vacuum in an environment where the Arab-Muslim culture is hegemonic. For many neighbors of her city, France is a criminal that must be exploited before returning to the country. But Magyd is lucky: her mother is interested in her schooling when those of her friends think that school is a waste of time and integration, a good joke.

He himself, a good student, is treated as a “queer” and the violence of his little neighbors prevents him from inviting his “French” classmates to his home. In short, before concluding that it is “Rejected by France”, Magyd Cherfi tells how, long before mass unemployment and the economic crisis, the North Africans of his childhood city collectively rejected France as a homeland. Worse, those who, like his parents, wanted to take advantage of the emancipation opportunities offered by France were subjected to social pressure that could go as far as physical violence.

Five years later, he offers a whole different story. October 5, 2020, invited on France Culture to discuss his latest book The Buckwheat Share, he declares : “My parents lived headlong, I saw my friends fail at school, the northern districts of Toulouse where we lived were little Algeria. France has a wishful thinking, that of universality and, at the same time, “let’s not go too far”. “ He who had the courage (or the unconsciousness) to tell raw facts, to testify to the refusal of integration by many inhabitants of the neighborhoods of his childhood, rewrote history. And this time, there is no Malika Sorel to bring the contradiction to her, as in Replicas in October 2016 Writing

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