Intersectionality An Attitude That Transforms
Photo: © Mohamed Badarne
Why We Matter has just been published in French for the first time – giving the very people Emilia Roig writes about the opportunity to read her book themselves. In this conversation, the author reflects on the freedom of writing in German and why intersectionality for her is not just a theory but a transformative mindset. What she describes doesn’t play out in systems, but in everyday life – in relationships, within ourselves. A discussion that invites us to look more closely at the moments where the political becomes personal.
In your book, you describe structures that operate deep within our relationships – precisely where we least expect them. Reading it, I was struck by how effortlessly power dynamics persist in intimacy, love or care work. What surprised you most while you were writing the book: the depth of these structures, or how little we actually notice them?It wasn’t shocking, but it was depressing. Writing made me realise just how deeply these dynamics are embedded in everyday life, and how much silence surrounds them. There seems to be an unspoken rule not to talk openly about what relationships or motherhood truly feel like. That angered me: the silence, the invisibility. Many women feel that if they’re uncomfortable or fail to fit perfectly into their roles, it’s their fault. They blame themselves, not the structures that shape them.
I think we need to stop seeing these feelings as personal failure. Truth is central for me – speaking the truth, even when it is unsettling.
I think it’s fascinating how differently we expresses ourself – or even feel – in another language. You wrote Why We Matter in German, not in your native French. How did that affect your writing?
Writing in German was actually easier, because the language feels more neutral to me. The words aren’t tied to my childhood; they carry less emotion. I can use them to tell a story without getting lost in the words themselves. Also, I live in different country from my family. That gives me a sense of freedom. I could write about things I might not have dared to speak about so openly in French.
Why We Matter is now available in French for the first time. In the book, you write very openly about your family – and now the very people you write about can read it themselves for the first time. What goes through your mind at this moment?
It’s a special moment – and a difficult one. I write about my family, about my mother and other relatives. We had to discuss everything before the book was published. Some topics made her uncomfortable, such as her past relationship with a woman. I wanted to include this story because it shows how deeply the taboo around homosexuality runs in my family. Several of my relatives were gay, lesbian or bi, but I only learned this much later. When I asked one relative if I could mention this, they refused outright. Of course, I then had to change the passage. They aren’t mentioned by name and I altered the relationship slightly. But it shows how difficult it still is to speak openly about homosexuality today. During the translation process, I realised how much easier it was for me to write about it in Germany. No one knows my family there. I could tell the story more honestly.
In your book, you describe how sexism, racism and homophobia intersect in everyday life. Comparing your experiences in France and Germany, where do you notice the biggest differences – and what feels similar?
There are clear differences. As far as homophobia is concerned, I feel more comfortable in Germany. There is a greater openness here; different ways of life are more visibly accepted. But I live in Berlin, in Neukölln, a very open environment. It might be different elsewhere. France, by contrast, feels more conventional, more heteronormative. When I visit my family, I notice how present homophobia still is – in schools, conversations, everyday life.
On the other hand, I notice racism more strongly in Germany. It’s more visible, more physical, sometimes even brutal. In France, it tends to be subtler, more paternalistic – rooted in that old “civilising” mindset, the belief that others need to be educated. In Germany, it’s more about separation and exclusion, about dividing rather than including. Both are violent, but in different ways, and I wouldn’t rank one above the other. As a public figure, I have more space in Germany than in France – perhaps because I’m seen as coming from somewhere else. My foreignness acts as a buffer: it allows me to push boundaries, ask questions and open spaces that are often more narrowly defined for voices from here.
You’re often associated with the term “intersectionality”, which many find unwieldy or overly theoretical. Does it annoy you when you have to keep explaining it?
Sometimes, yes. But I understand why. Intersectionality is a complex term, yet it describes something very real. For me, it’s not just an analytical concept – it’s a political project. It helps us understand and address oppression in all its depth and complexity. If we talk only about racism or sexism, and only at the personal level, the discussion remains superficial. Intersectionality looks at the interconnections – at patriarchy, racism, capitalism, colonialism—and how they reinforce each other.
The term is often considered too academic, but that’s not true. Yes, it’s discussed in universities, but it comes from lived experience – from Black women active both in academia and in social movements. The term was coined by the lawyer Kimberlé Crenshaw, who has personal experience of these issues and has worked closely with those directly affected. I find it telling that Black women are often expected to simplify their ideas, as if they weren’t capable of complex thought. That attitude is racist, misogynist and classist.
I don’t have a fixed definition myself. I adapt it depending on the audience, the moment or the context. For me, it’s about refusing to oversimplify reality just because it’s uncomfortable. Complexity doesn’t always need to be simplified – it’s necessary if we want to understand the world.
Change begins when we no longer accept what is unjust
I spend as much time as possible in nature. That keeps me grounded. I also need a lot of time alone; I’m quite introverted. My little dog helps me stay in the moment. When things become overwhelming, it sometimes takes me a while to fully recognise this, but then I take a step back. Writing gives me energy. What I do can be exhausting, but it also nourishes me. If something drains me, I stop. I pay close attention to whether something creates life – or takes it away.
If we could imagine for a moment that all of France had read your book – and truly understood intersectional thinking – what would change? The mood? The way people treat each other?
I think there are certain things we simply wouldn’t tolerate anymore. Children living on the streets, right in the middle of Paris – nobody would accept that. Police violence, the regular harassment of entire communities – that would be unthinkable. Sexist violence wouldn’t be downplayed or normalised either. I think there would be less apathy, less collective indifference to injustice. Instead, we’d feel a collective anger and desire to change things. That, for me, would be real success. Because change begins exactly there: when we no longer accept what is unjust.
About the interviewee:
Emilia Roig is a political scientist and non-fiction author who teaches, researches and writes about intersectionality, equality and social change. With the publication of Why We Matter in French, one of her most significant works is now available in her native language for the first time.