Paul from Paris

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.

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.