victoria leonidou
“Foreigner: a choked up rage deep down in my throat, a black angel clouding
transparency, opaque, unfathomable spur. The image of hatred and of the other, a
foreigner is neither the romantic victim of our clannish indolence nor the intruder
responsible for all the ills of the polis. Neither the apocalypse on the move nor the
instant adversary to be eliminated for the sake of appeasing the group. Strangely,
the foreigner lives within us: he is the hidden face of our identity, the space that
wrecks our abode, the time in which understanding and affinity founder. By
recognizing him within ourselves, we are spared detesting him in himself. A
symptom that precisely turns we into a problem, perhaps makes it impossible,
The foreigner comes in when the consciousness of my difference arises, and he
disappears when we all acknowledge ourselves as foreigners, unamenable to
bonds and communities.”
Julia Kristeva