Paul from Paris

Despite an abundance of civic-minded talent among conservatives, French president Sarkozy continues to surround himself with people whom he knows but who lack policy skill or political savvy.

The most recent diplomatic blunder comes from the woman in charge of French diplomacy, foreign affairs minister Michèle Alliot-Marie.

Alliot-Marie was practically born into politics: her father was a political figure in the French Basque country (and is today a rugby referee, which in some respects is a higher political calling). Alliot-Marie long served as a local official on the Atlantic coast and as an MP. As though she were playing a ministerial Monopoly game, Alliot-Marie assumed the foreign affairs ministry last year, after having previously served in  conservative governments over the past twenty-five years as minister for justice, interior, defense, youth, and education.

Despite an impressive background in politics, Alliot-Marie has made some remarkably impolitic blunders in the past weeks.

Most recently, Alliot-Marie made an appearance in Cairo where she flattered the Mubarak regime with praise that seems not to have been necessary or diplomatically expedient.

This absence of diplomatic caution is all the more remarkable as Alliot-Marie had faced public criticism, only a few weeks earlier, in the wake of an offer of French savoir-faire in policing or riot control to the Ben Ali regime in Tunisia.

The revelation that most calls into question Alliot-Marie’s judgment is also the most personal, concerning a vacation Alliot-Marie took with her husband (a longtime conservative MP, now deputy minister for parliamentary relations) during a vacation between Christmas and the New Year.

Given that protest had already gripped Tunisia before her departure, Alliot-Marie’s first lapse in judgment was going on the holiday at all: even while traveling as a private person, Alliot-Marie’s ministerial function would give rise to all sorts of speculation.

More fundamentally, while on vacation, Alliot-Marie rode in a private jet and stayed at a luxury hotel owned by Tunisian businessman Aziz Miled. On this point, French commentators have gotten sidetracked, intrigued with minutia such as whether Miled was part of or apart from the Ben Ali regime. This misses the fundamental political point of accepting gifts, especially those offered by foreigners in turbulent places to the political head of a diplomatic service. It is remarkable that a diplomatic head, seasoned by decades in politics, would fail to appreciate the appearance of impropriety that accepting such gifts -calls for Alliot-Marie or her husband to produce receipts (for the hotel stay) have, so far, gone unanswered- would create. It is despairing that she would not have thought to take a few steps to make sure such an appearance would never be created.

English speakers say that a birth mother “gives up” her child for adoption. But French speakers say that a birth mother “abandons” (from the verb abandonner) her child.

There’s a world of difference between the two expressions. Giving connotes generosity, whereas abandonment suggests cowardice. We do speak of “giving up the fight”, which suggests surrender in a manner akin to abandoning a struggle. But differences remain: the English expression hints of a struggle put aside, whereas the French expressions sounds a pejorative note, similar to desertion.

France has a long offered preferential options to abortion or infanticide. Under the French revolution, a 1793 law provided for state funding for medical care of women giving birth, continuing “until she be fully recovered from labor” (“jusqu’à ce qu’elle soit parfaitement rétablie de ses couches“).

In France, women giving birth have long been able to opt for anonymity, or, put differently, to opt out of motherhood. The 1793 law mentioned above mandated that “secrecy of the most inviolable sort shall be preserved in all matters concerning her [the woman giving birth]” (“Le secret le plus absolue sera conservé sur tout ce qui la concerne.”).

Today, article 326 of the French Civil Code provides that “when giving birth, the mother may ask that secrecy be preserved as concerns her admission [to a clinic or hospital] and identity” (my translation, emphasis added).

In France today, recourse to secrecy in childbirth is exceedingly rare. Statistics are hard to come by, but about 600 children are born each year to women who do not wish to disclose their identity, out of about 825,000 births per year; in other words, about 1 in 1,375 births.

This French legal option is exceptional in Europe (or beyond, although it exists also in Italy and Luxembourg). I’ve thought of it as a feminist measure or gesture of sexual equality that makes it socially possible for a woman to walk away from unwanted pregnancy much as a man might. Actually, the woman’s position is better, insofar as she avoids abortion, looks after her own health, and enjoys an implicit promise that society will look after the baby.

But secrecy has fallen out of favor in France, and for French women motherhood is becoming socially more an obligation than an option.

This is shown in the common name for the practice, “accouchement sous X“, where “X” denotes anonymity; an English approximation would be “Jane Doe childbirth”. This same kind of phrasing is used for criminal complaints where the identity of a suspect is initially unknown: a “John Doe complaint”, “plainte contre X“. Today, I would argue, in both cases society expresses discomfort with not knowing the identity of X.

The secrecy offered by French law concerns the birth mother, not the child. It is possible for a man to assert paternity and become father to child born to a “Jane Doe” mother who sought secrecy. It is also possible for a mother to change her mind, within two months of giving birth, and assert maternal rights. It is even possible for a mother to relinquish secrecy, years after the fact: since 2002, children born to an unknown mother can ask a medical commission to seek the identity of the birth mother. About 4500 such requests have been made (which represents about 2% of the total number of living children born to unknown mothers), and about half of the birth mothers have been identified; of these, about half have accepted some sort of contact with the birth child.

Social pressure on women to assume motherhood in the context of secret childbirth has been made most strongly by grandparents.

In one case, the parents of a woman who had committed suicide found evidence of a hospital stay; the hospital divulged (perhaps wrongfully, certainly indiscreetly) the reason of the deceased woman’s hospital stay. The grandparents then petitioned the courts to undo the adoption that was then underway, so as to assert themselves parental rights over the child born to their deceased daughter. In 2009, France’s supreme judicial court denied the grand-parent’s petition, preserving the deceased daughter’s request for secrecy and, indirectly, predictability and certainty in the adoption process.

In a widely reported recent case, a set of grandparents sought to establish paternity over a child born to their daughter, who had elected secrecy when giving birth. An appeals court granted the grandparents’ petition. Although news reports tend to focus on the family and the child’s welfare, the decision shocked me, because it undid the birth mother’s choice of secrecy, forced the stigma of failed motherhood on a woman who had chosen otherwise (those in the grandparent’s circle will know who gave birth to the child), and gave rise to a lastingly bizarre family configuration (with grandparents acting as parents and the birth mother sentenced to a daily accusation of inadequacy).

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.

On 26 January 1924, Charles Jewtraw won the first gold medal in the first winter Olympics.

Jewtraw, an American from Lake Placid (pictured above in photo posted by CNN), won the 500 meter short track speed skating race, in 44.0 seconds.

Chamonix, a French town in the shadow of Mont Blanc, hosted the 1924 Olympics. At the time, they were billed the Semaine internationale des sports d’hiver, acknowledged subsequently as the first Winter Olympics.

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.