Paul from Paris

rue Marcadet

La goutte d’or –in English, “the golden drop” or “the drop of gold”– sounds great: rich and luxuriant.

It’s not. It’s a Paris neighborhood, on the “wrong”, non-touristy side of Montmartre. A neighborhood out of the way, near to nothing and hard to get to. A neighborhood penned in between a hill and railroad tracks.

Th golden drop refers to wine: a white wine that was once produced on the spot, long ago. The neighborhood was incorporated into Paris about 150 years ago. Back then, it was decidedly working class. It still is. But many of the workers today are African, either sub-Saharan (black) or North African (Arab, berber).

La goutte d’or was in the news recently, for a reason likely to strike outsiders as bizarre: a neighborhood picnic, what in the USA would be called a block party.

The picnic offerings might have raised eyebrows in the USA: saucisses and pinard, popular expressions for tapas and wine. (Readers will be familiar with wine. Tapas are before-dinner appetizers made from ham, referred to colloquially in French as saucisses, sausages. I’ve eaten saucisses, and they are more closely related to Spanish tapas than to German sausages.)

This being France, there are political undercurrents to the neighborhood picnic: enjoying tapas and wine on a Friday afternoon are in keeping with working-class customs (or someone’s idea of them); whereas eating pork and drinking wine are prohibited by Islam, it being understood that many residents who’ve settled in the neighborhood in the past 50 years are Muslim.

This led to all sorts of speculation. Who were the picnic organizers? Were they right-wing militants? (In the past, right-wing groups have made a point of serving pork at soup kitchens.) Were they secular militants, opposed to religious expression of any kind?

The answer seems to be: none of the above. The story seems to be richer and more interesting than anyone had thought. It merits fuller study. It would make for a fascinating book or documentary film.

Two (starting) points that I’d make:

First, I’ve long been struck by how differently dietary restrictions are viewed by Anglo-American and French culture. Especially among the young, vegetarianism seems to be  common in the English-speaking world. Among Americans, not wanting to eat ham (or wanting to eat only halal or kosher food) is a preference akin to preferring low-salt or low-fat food; it is a wish easily accommodated. By contrast, many French people strike me as almost militant in their efforts to promote certain foods and drink; and to disparage those who prefer not to try certain foods.

Second, neighborhood streets in the Golden Drop have been occupied, every Friday, for Muslim prayer. Most Parisians have no idea that private groups block off entire streets, every week, as shown in the video below. Viewed in this light, the neighborhood picnic suggests reclaiming or taking back the neighborhood, more than a crusade against Islam.

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?

How do French people generally view young people, age 15 to 25?

For many in France, there is no better way to answer that question than a survey. And a French organization, AFEV, has done just that, with help from a pollster and interpretation by a panel of experts; The survey results show:

• About half of those surveyed have a negative perception of youth (persons age 15-25). Last year, the percentage with negative views was 51%; this year, it’s 49%.
• A health majority –59%– think that they do not have the same views as youth.
• Most of those surveyed –51%– feel a generational difference with youth.
• Nearly four in ten –39%– state that they do not not understand youth well.

France is among the most vibrant countries in Europe, demographically. French society is baby-friendly. But here’s the paradox: when the babies grow to become adolescents, then young adults, social attitudes change dramatically. I didn’t need a survey to tell me that French society doesn’t particularly value its younger citizens, or treat them particularly well.

In French political or social discourse, les jeunes (youth, young people), are seen and discussed as a separate tribe or ethnicity. They are not valued: for all the merit of AFEV’s poll, it’s telling that the organization chose not to ask youth about their attitudes towards society at large.

From my vantage point in Paris, I see a chasm between the French and Anglo-American worlds on two points:

• Higher education. Most French people I talk with refuse to believe the cost of a private college education in the United States, or the concept of needs-blind admissions. Likewise, discussions with Americans run aground when I mention grueling examinations young people go through in France in order to have a chance –not a certainty, a chance– to land a spot at a school with selective admissions, but comparatively low tuition. In the same way, many French people have trouble imagining the material comfort to which many American students are accustomed; just as many Americans cannot imagine the poverty conditions in which many French students live.
• Employment. A recent college graduate in the United States can, without stigma, work in a bookstore or a bar; teach English in Taiwan; or undertake some other pursuit unrelated to what she will do five years hence. By comparison, French people tend to regard first jobs (following higher education) with considerable seriousness and as a strong predictor of occupational future. Some of the difference probably has to do with how labor markets are structured and lower search (for candidates) or error for employer) costs in the Anglo-American world. But to generalize to an extreme: French people at 25 act as though they were on probation, whereas Americans at 25 act as though tomorrow held an infinity of options from which to choose.

Another real difference might be an attitude towards private initiative and government assistance: whereas the AFEV survey points to greater state aid to assist youth, I would expect most Anglo-Americans to express offense if youth were broadly described as needing government assistance.

French commentator Eric Zemmour is often heard on the radio, seen on talk shows, and read in print. On 6 March, on the weekend talk show “Salut les terriens!” (“Hi Earthlings!”), Zemmour said (my translation), “French people from immigrant backgrounds are stopped [by law enforcement] more often than others because most traffickers are black and Arab; that’s a fact.”

Controversy promptly erupted.

French broadcaster Canal Plus, which airs “Salut les terriens!”, reportedly received a warning from the CSA, the French television regulator.

One of Zemmour’s employers, French daily Le Figaro, openly discussed plans to fire him from a position on its editorial board; it ultimately backtracked when pro-Zemmour groups sprang up and staged protests outside the paper’s offices.

LICRA (French acronym for the International League Against Racism and Antisemitism) challenged Zemmour. The commentator replied, in an open letter, that he “never wanted to stigmatize ‘blacks or Arabs’” and apologized to those whom he had offended. LICRA replied with a letter of its own, calling for more debate with Zemmour.

SOS Racisme, another French group, brought a criminal complaint against Zemmour.

Parisian advocate general (a magistrate) Pierre Bilger wrote in his blog a piece in support of freedom of suppression. Some read Bilger’s post as a support of Zemmour, which led to Bilger being called in by his superiors to “remind” him of his duties of impartiality and non-partisanship.

I’m torn between two observations that are difficult to reconcile:

On the one hand, Zemmour has succeeded brilliantly in the art of self-promotion. Before Zemmour became enmeshed in controversy, I didn’t know who he was. If I had seen him on television (or heard him on the radio or read him in print) he had made no impression on me. Perhaps this is a failure on my part to keep abreast of French commentators, as Zemmour seems to be present in all media, all the time. Today, everyone knows who Eric Zemmour is, and his case is on everyone’s mind. On 3 March, Zemmour’s publisher released Mélancholie française (“French Melancholy”). From reviews and interviews, the book seems to be an idiosyncratic history of France as successor to Rome. Is it coincidental that controversy erupted just days later?

On the other hand, in France today, racism is a mortal sin; simply to be accused of racism is grave. (Even on a weekend show called “Hi Earthlings!”, whose host courts controversy himself, the suspicion or suggestion of racism is damning.) Partly this reflects French aspirations to universality. But it also points a a tension between colorblind aspirations and colored vision: to think of someone as a French person “from an immigrant background”, you rely on skin color or family name. Of course, although French people uniformly decry racism (and its concrete manifestations, such as discrimination in housing or employment, both of which are real in France today), many believe in and talk about ethnic or cultural differences common to “Africans” or “Arabs” or the “Chinese”. This is what I think will exculpate Zemmour from charges in the court of public opinion: for many, the commentator said aloud what many think to themselves.

When I was a young boy in America, every school room had an American flag, and every morning the class recited the pledge of allegiance. An American flag also flew outdoors, and I recall being part of the flag brigade that had the honor, at the end of every afternoon, of lowering and folding the flag, in accordance with a strict protocol.

Flags are everywhere in America, but almost nowhere in France. Only public buildings fly the flag, which tends to be weathered. When I tried to find a French flag, many years ago, the only place I could find one was a boating supply store.

Last October, Eric Besson, the French minister of Immigration and National Identity, opened a “great debate on the values of national identity” (with a web site). Maybe the debate was intended to focus public opinion, in the months leading to regional elections, on law-and-order and patriotic issues thought to favor conservatives. In other words, president Sarkozy wanted to claim the flag as his.

Prominent conservatives questioned the wisdom of holding such a debate at all. Opposition politicians uniformly and vocally criticized the proceedings. After a series of gaffes, the debate seemed to become a political liability for conservatives, and a drain on other initiatives. Prime minister François Fillon stepped in, congratulated participants, declared victory, and announced a few, very modest initiatives.

One of the initiatives involved putting flags in schools. Immigration and National Identity minister Eric Besson had proposed a flag in every classroom. This was scaled down to proposing a flag in every school.

This barren debate did shine some light on one of the oddest figures in French politics today: Immigration and National Identity minister Eric Besson. Born in Marrakech, Besson grew up in Morocco. Legend has it that, when he failed to win admission to the prestigious école nationale d’administration (ENA), Besson borrowed money from his grandmother, published an ad reading “I didn’t get into ENA!” in Le Monde, and landed a job with Renault. Drawn to politics, Besson rose to prominence in the labor party. After a messy argument with presidential candidate Ségolène Royal, Besson became a turncoat. He noisily left the labor party and teamed up with Nicolas Sarkozy. For this, Besson was rewarded with a ministerial portfolio. In addition to this public change, Besson made private changes too: he also divorced Sylvie Brunel, his wife of many years and mother of his children, and began a relationship with Yasmine Torjeman, a 22-year-old Tunisian.