French president Sarkozy announced a scheme to promote learning English. Sarkozy has trouble with his native tongue and has a limited command of English. His scheme revolves around preschoolers and computers. It won’t work: French students tread water in language classes for years, never progressing towards measurable competence; and French language teaching adores abstraction and hidebound rules.
Le Monde accompanied its report of the presidential scheme with testimony from its readers and bloggers. Their comments are eye-opening. Where and how do French people learn English? Not in the classroom, in class; but at home, while watching “South Park” or “Friends,” reading Harry Potter, or listening to popular music.
On languages, Sarkozy turns out to be more a follower than a leader. What is really happening, today, in French society is more impressive than politicians’ vague hopes for the future. The photo above was taken at a Relay newsstand in a Paris train station. The display window promotes four titles. Remarkably, the books are available in French translation, and also in English. A close look will reveal two lessons: the English-language books are physically smaller than the French translations; and the English-language books are significantly cheaper than the French translations.
Here’s a rash generalization with a kernal of truth: English scandals involve sex; French scandals revolve around money.
All sorts of bizarre allegations are aired in France. Most of the time, the alleged schemes are too lurid and too ham-handed to make sense: a government minister took wads of cash from the L’Oréal heiress; a prime minister orchestrated campaign finance through occult, foreign accounts; a Chinese-born undergraduate pilfered top secrets from an auto part manufacturer during her summer internship. The truthfulness of the allegations generally fails to withstand the test of time, or careful investigation.
The latest bizarre allegation comes from French automaker Renault. It began the new year with a barrage of charges against three senior executives: Michel Balthazard, head of long-term product development; his right-hand man, Bertrand Rochette; and Mathieu Tenenbaum, who co-headed the company’s electric vehicle program. Renault is in the process of terminating the three men, all long-time Renault employees. Renault has also filed a criminal complaint, against persons unknown, alleging espionage, corruption, breach of trust, theft, and concealment.
The allegation is lurid but fails the credibility test. It suggests corporate infighting and turf battles more than industrial espionage. These are the clues that led me to reach this opinion:
- As reported by The Economist, Renault’s chief operating officer, Patrick Pélata, indicated that alleged leaked information concerned Renault’s “business model” and “vehicle architecture”, but not technical secrets, such as battery design. Don’t senior Renault executives talk about these subjects all the time, especially with JV partners, suppliers, and customers?
- Renault commissioned a five-month (!) investigation by a private firm but neglected to inform the French government, which is the also the automaker’s leading shareholder and which has powerful investigatory means at its disposal.
- Renault has backed off from initial reports made to the press. These were lurid and extremely prejudicial: an identified state-owned electric utility in China (!) reportedly made deposits to bank accounts in Liechtenstein and Switzerland (!). The origin and destination of the funds seem inspired by a made-for-television thriller, and there is massive incongruity between the suave secrets allegedly divulged and the crass payment allegedly tendered.
- Allegations reportedly were first made by unsigned letter.
How many piano tuners are there in Chicago?
Physicist Enrico Fermi put that question to graduate students. (Decades later, my professor asked the same question to our basic astrophysics class, then explained its pedigree.)
It’s a great question. To answer it, you have to estimate (among other things) the number of households that have a piano and the frequency with which they tune it. If you’re numerically nimble, you can come within an order of magnitude of the factually correct answer.
Variants of this problem exist:
- How many basketballs will fill a city bus?
- How many traffic lights are there in Manhattan?
These are also good tests of numeracy, although they don’t ask the respondent to juggle as many hypotheticals as Fermi’s piano tuner problem.
An urban legend has grown around these puzzles. According to the legend, top employers now routinely ask these questions at interviews. A few years ago, the company most often mentioned was Google; today, it has become Goldman Sachs. Businesses have sprouted to train interviewees to prepare for these kinds of questions.
This urban legend might have some basis in fact: the questions are a good test of numeracy, or at least of an eagerness to approach problems expressed in numbers. Basing hiring decisions on how an interviewee tackles these questions makes more sense than choosing new hires on appearance, including poise during more traditional interview questions.
This urban legend troubles me for what it signals about candidates. I can’t say often or emphatically enough how disappointed I am at candidates’ willingness –even eagerness– to put their résumé in a pile, to get on a long interview line, and to hope that (somehow) they’ll be asked to dance at the ball.
What an illustration of poor numeracy skills! What’s the likelihood that you’ll be selected from a big pool? “Having” the right answer or having been coached at answering are of little hope: all of the semi-finalists at beauty contests (Miss France, Miss America) are attractive, but most go home empty-handed.
A recent opinion poll showed that French people are pessimistic. Indeed,the French were the most pessimistic of the 53 countries that BVA polled. Its poll centered on the economic outlook for 2011, and most French respondents expect the economic climate to worsen and employment levels to fall.
Why such pessimism? How can it be squared with other polls that show the French to enjoy superior quality of life and widespread material comfort?
For years, I’ve heard French people –especially outwardly successful people– voice exaggerated caution about future prospects, along the lines of: we’ll be lucky to make it through the winter. After having heard these musings repeatedly and consistently over the years, I discount the pessimism expressed in an opinion poll; or, more exactly, suspect that pessimism points towards a few, distinctly French social tropes or memes.
First among these is a social prohibition against bragging. No one likes a show-off. Accomplishment or success may be prized or cherished, but its holder commits a gaffe if he publicly comments on it. Partly this prohibition expresses modesty, but it is also a prophylactic against envy: as Tocqueville observed, in today’s democratic society, giving voice to good fortune can spark resentment among one’s fellows.
There also seems to be a French folkway, reminiscent of the Icarus story, where the act of foreseeing or expecting great things in the future somehow hobbles or handicaps the doer. Until recently –in living memory– France was an agrarian society, where the land’s yield remained uncertain until harvest. Drought or flood or a heat spell or a cold snap could shatter clever plans, as will be familiar to readers of Pagnol’s Jean de Florette.
Finally, an expression of pessimism also signals anxiety about loss. As Rousseau reasoned, fear off loss can outweigh the pleasure of possession. What was true in France more than 200 years ago remains pertinent today. To some extent, French respondents may express pessimism precisely because they have much to lose.
couverture du magazine Ikea Family Live (hiver 2010)
“Et si vous fixiez vos propres règles?”
Voici la question posée en couverture de Ikea Family Live magazine, publication du magasin suédois éponyme destinée surtout aux consommateurs parents de jeunes enfants en quête d’”idées et inspiration pour la maison”.
Il s’agit d’une question ouverte, un brin provocante tout en gardant le ton bon enfant du magazine et du magasin.
C’est aussi une réponse à l’affirmation de la RATP à bord des bus parisiens : “Si chacun fait ses propres règles, tout se dérègle.”
Il s’agit, pour la RATP, d’un énoncé fermé, vaguement ménaçant, qui n’admet pas de discussion. Bizarrement, c’est aussi un mécanisme à disculper la RATP de dysfonctionnements : l’origine de dérèglements se trouverait auprès des usagers, intempestivement innovateurs.
