Paul from Paris

Banishment and deportation were, for centuries, punishments under French law. They helped people (with French natives) French colonies in the Pacific, South America, and North Africa. A pair of some truly odd people might restore banishment and deportation to the French criminal code.

The story starts with a burka-wearing motorist in Nantes, pulled over for a routine traffic offense. Instead of apologizing to the police or paying a modest fine, the motorist chose to contest the limit on wearing a burka. This drew investigative curiosity from law enforcement.

Investigation led to the man in the motorist’s life, Lies Hebbadj, who has 4 wives and 15 children (two more are expected soon). Hebbadj is charged with “instigating” welfare fraud. According to prosecutors, over three years, Hebbadj and his large household received € 175,000 in welfare payments; had all family members lived under the same roof, the amount would have been € 88,000. (For clarity: some payments are based solely on parenthood, without regard to revenue.) For the prosecutors, Hebbadj’s conduct is particularly culpable because he “knowingly” decided not to acknowledge paternity of four children. (For clarity: “isolated”, single parents are entitled to more assistance than couples.)

For interior minister Brice Hortfeux, Hebbadj’s possible conviction is not enough. Hortefeux, one of the oddest characters in the conservative government and freshly convicted of racial insult (injure raciale, a conviction which Hortefeux reportedly will appeal), wants to mete out special punishment.

Hortfeux’s first line of attack was polygamy. Based on the facts of the case, this seemed simple enough. The law, however, prohibits bigamy: a married person who would contract a second marriage (like a homeowner with mortgage might contract a second mortgage). Polygamous cohabitation apparently is not prohibited under French law today.

Frustrated and mad as a hornet, this led Hortfeux to his second line of attack: banishment. For Hortefeux, “When a foreigner gains [French] citizenship thanks to marrying a French woman, and then, in the following years, lives in de facto polygamy, abusing the welfare system, is it normal that he keep French citizenship? My answer is no.” Hortefeux wants to strip Hebbadj of French citizenship, then deport him.

Since when has banishment been a punishment in France? Believe it or not, for hundreds of years. Banishment and deportation (and related concepts, like “civil death”) had a long history in French law, starting in the Renaissance and ending ultimately only with de Gaulle. They were especially serious forms of punishent, on par with execution. They were used, from the revolution of 1789 through the Paris commune in the 1870s, especially for political offenses. A special punishment was enacted for Dreyfus in 1895; one would hop this would give pause to Hortefeux.

A post-script. A big part of the Hebbadj controversy has not been reported or discussed. In addition to welfare fraud, Hebbadj is also charged with serious criminal offenses stemming from employment, from 2007 through 2010, of foreign students or undocumented workers. Apart from working conditions with prosecutors described as particularly deplorable, Hebbadj apparently paid his employees much less than the minimum wage. If the facts are as alleged, the case illustrates the plight of transient or undocumented workers who don’t report abuse, whether from ignorance or fear of attracting unwanted attention from authorities. I think it’s sad that the case has not received more attention.

Another post-script. I can’t help but wonder whether politics fuels Hortefeux’s peculiar interest in Hebbadj’s fate. Does Hortefeux harbor revenge fantasies against François Mitterrand, the twice-elected French president who for decades lived with two women, one his wife, the other his concubine?

French government spokesman Luc Chatel is “profoundly shocked.”

Justice minister Michèle Alliot-Marie wanted to prosecute, but found that the law didn’t allow this; Alliot-Marie now is “looking into how we could legally fill this void.”

Interior Minister Brice Hortefeux described what had happened as “unacceptable outrage”, and added that “no one can accept that free expression be deviated without regard for the emblem of our country.”

Flag desecration has made news in France.

Here’s what happened. In Nice, on the French Riviera, a store (that sells books and recorded music, and that probably wanted to boost foot traffic) held a photo contest. A photo (showing a person wiping his behind with a French flag) won an award for political incorrectness. A newspaper reported on the prize. Some people got upset. State prosecutor Eric de Montgolfier dismissed a criminal complaint because the law has an exception for creative work.

I remember when flag burning had been a hot issue in American politics. Usually temperate voices went so far as to call for a constitutional amendment to criminalize the practice. Of course, flag burning had been a marginal practice then, and is basically unheard-of today.

I expect the same will happen in France, even if freedom of expression is less deeply rooted in France than in the USA.

What disappoints me in the French case is less the anger voiced by politicians than the artistic poverty of the incriminated photo.

From press reports, the photographer’s identity seems to be a closely guarded secret; I couldn’t find it. Who are we dealing with: an artist who wants to make a statement, or an adolescent out to get a rise from conventional elders?

Likewise, press reports that defended the photo claim, as I read them, that the work had been taken out of context. Isn’t that saying that the photo was only one entry in a freak-show lineup of images intended to shock only for the sake of shocking? If the work is intended to make a statement, why would context matter?

French president Nicolas Sarkozy opined last week that it would be advisable to legislate against wearing the burka in public.

Sarkozy refers to a loose-fitting garment, generally black, that covers the whole body, head, and face; and that is worn by some women who are Muslim. In France, sometimes it’s called a “burka” or “niqab”.

Late last week, the media gave attention to a case from the town of Nantes, in western France. A motorcycle policeman pulled over and fined a motorist who was wearing a burka. What was her offense?  Violating an article of the French traffic code that requires drivers to have freedom of movement, and unobstructed visibility. It’s the same article that would prohibit me from driving in a Star Wars costume or from over-packing parcels on the back seat of my car. The violation carries a 22 euro fine; it’s no big deal.

For the motorist, however, it was a big deal. She retained counsel and met with the press. For the motorist, her case was clearly discriminatory.

No one seems to have suggested that the ticketing officer was acting on anyone’s orders. Whether to ticket this offense falls within the discretion that police on traffic duty exercise –well or poorly– every day.

So it was surprising that the policeman’s ultimate boss, interior minister Brice Hortefeux, made public late last week a letter he wrote to his colleague, immigration minister Eric Besson. Both men are no stranger to controversy, so it should surprise no one that the letter’s contents were incendiary: Hortefeux suggested that Besson look into stripping the burka-wearer’s husband of his French nationality.

More than a routine traffic offense motivated Hortefeux’s suggestion. The motorist’s husband, born in Algeria, reportedly is a polygamist, with at least four wives, and many children. Each of the wives receives an assistance payment for single mothers, a fraud reportedly orchestrated by the husband.

Is it possible, in France, to strip someone of his nationality? For recently naturalized citizens, yes, under a narrow set of circumstances (such as bearing arms against France in wartime). This happens rarely, and it’s not clear whether the husband’s case would qualify. For conservative party spokesman Frédéric Lefebvre, nationality-stripping “expresses the necessary firmness that our society has to demonstrate against those who despise our rules, deviate our procedures, and profit unspeakably from French hospitality.”

What worries me here is the emergence of a rabid clique among certain French conservatives, whose patriotism too often is expressed through extremism, over-the-top hysterics.

Unlike many Anglo-American commentators, who approach the French debate as a question of freedom of religion, I’m receptive to French appeals to “liberté, égalité, fraternité“. What troubles about the burka –more than that only women wear one– is that the covering enables one to go through the public square as a phantom or shadow, without being in public, of the public. The best example of this may be offered by the couple now at the center of controversy: although both husband and wife have held press conferences, neither has been identified by name. Isn’t it odd to speak in public without saying who you are? And when you argue that you have been wrongly accused or targeted for discrimination, would you not want to say publicly who you are?

In France, debate always goes on, and elections are always around the corner.

Regional elections are coming up in 2010, and president Sarkozy has incited debate on French “national identity”. This torch burns hot and has been passed repeatedly among conservative hands.

Former minister for immigration and national identity, Brice Hortefeux, got into trouble when he made off-color remarks about a young man, apparently of Arab descent, at a conservative party youth event. Hortefeux today heads up the interior ministry.

The current minister for immigration and national identity, Eric Besson, courts controversy with zeal. For many years a labor party leader, Besson was humiliated and pushed aside by Ségolène Royal during her presidential campaign. Besson switched sides and joined Sarkozy’s government. For the left, he’s a turncoat, and he’s denounced or decried whenever he speaks. A weekly news magazine branded him “the most hated man in France”.

The junior minister for family affairs, Nadine Morano, caused a stir when she spoke this week in Charmes, a town in the Vosges best known as the birthplace of nationalist, anti-Dreyfusard, “chief of the brainwashers”, Maurice Barrès. When asked what she “wanted” from a “young Muslim”, Morano replied: “for him to love France when he lives in this country”. Hardly controversial words. Then Morano added that she wanted this hypothetical young person also to “find work”, “not speak in slang”, and “not wear his baseball cap backwards”. As with Hortefeux, the words aren’t facially anti-Muslim, but are heavily weighted down with nasty stereotypes. And as with Hortefeux, Morano claims to have been misquoted or misunderstood.

Sarkozy’s bet seems to have been to pick up some votes from potential National Front protest voters, and to consolidate the conservative party as the majority party. I read his preoccupation with “national identity” much like efforts in the USA to ban flag-burning. But the debate continues to make the Sarkozy team look like bumblers: time after time, seemingly reasonable, smart people make comments that are beyond the limits of polite discourse in France today.

Calls have been ringing out, including from the conservative camp, to stop the “national identity” debate.

Soon after a spat on “aggressive” reporting by a television journalist, French interior minister Brice Hortefeux made news again.

In a video made public by Le Monde, Hortefeux is shown at a late-summer meeting for young conservatives. He’s accompanied by Jean-François Copé, conservative party leader at the national assembly, and surrounded by party activists.

One of the activists, Amine, is of North African descent. It’s a jovial occasion, and everyone’s taking souvenir snapshots of conservative leaders. Amine approaches Copé and Hortefeux for a snapshot.

“Now that’s integration!” exclaims one activist. Someone (Copé?) chimes in, “He speaks Arabic!” Another activist adds, “He eats pork and drinks beer!”

Then Hortefeux adds: “He doesn’t match the prototype at all.” He concludes, “When there’s one, it’s fine. It’s when there are a lot that there are problems.”

There’s an embarrassing precedent. Last January, Hortefeux joked about Fadela Amara, junior minister for urban policy, whom he called “a compatriot”. Then he added, “As it’s not really obvious, I’m pointing it out.” No offense was taken: Hortefeux said he was kidding about his and Amara’s regional origins –both are from Auvergne– not Amara’s North African parentage.

Just days ago, Hortefeux retired a prefect, Paul Girot de Langlade (who coincidentally also is from Auvergne). While at the Orly airport outside Paris, Girot de Langlade became impatient with security checks and reportedly said, “you’d think we were in Africa,” and “there are only blacks here.”

There are three lessons to be learned from the Hortefeux affair:

1. For the left, racism is a mortal sin. It cannot be excused; it can be pardoned only after contrition. Insofar as the left draws on universal principles, this makes sense, because drawing ethnic lines runs counter to universalism. It also helps explain why the remedy sought is resignation rather than apology. Those on the left may be quick to find racism here because of Hortefeux’s precedents, the Girot de Langlade affair, and the fact that Hortefeux and president Sarkozy are fast friends.
2. For the right, and maybe for a majority of French people, Hortefeux did nothing wrong. (This also seems to be Amine’s position.) The right believes that national or regional origins carry or are prone to result in certain character traits; talking about an “Italian family” or “German precision” is shorthand not intended to stigmatize. This helps to explain why French prime minister Fillon appeared on national television and said that Hortefeux was the victim of a campaign of denigration. (Interesting etymology, better reserved for another post.) It makes understandable Hortefeux’s unwillingness to say something like: I didn’t mean to give offense, and I apologize to any whom my remarks may have offended. It also helps to explain how references to regional –as opposed to ethnic– origins would explain and excuse talk that otherwise could be thought racist. And it draws a line of sorts between Hortefeux’s comments and Girot de Langlade’s disparagement.
3. Hortefeux is behind the times, but not for the reasons some have in mind. In recent years, the quality of consumer electronics has improved: devices that capture images, video, and sound are accessible. And the Internet makes it easy to divulge and disseminate recordings. But Hortefeux has not been caught in a “Gotcha!” moment. He appeared at a communications event organized by his party, and he’s a professional politician. He consented to a photo-op. But he thought that he and his party control his image and how it’s used. On this point, the world is changing, becoming “flatter”, more democratic, more popular.