Paul from Paris

A majority of Swiss voters rejected the construction of new minarets.

In a country with only a few mosques, the question hardly seems to be a burning priority.

But, taken at face value, the result is hardly surprising. Land use and zoning regulations are common, maybe universal. If I buy vacant land, I’m limited in whether I can build a house on it; how big that house can be; how far from the street or neighboring lots I can build; and the general appearance of the structure. If I buy a condominium or a house in a planned community, I’m required to accept a long list of rules that limit the use and appearance of my property.

Most commentators surmise that the Swiss referendum was really a debate about Islam. Some state with conviction that the referendum will be overturned by the European Court of Human Rights. This is overreacting. Swiss voters have not denied Muslims the right to practice their religion. Nor have they interfered with the construction of mosques. (By comparison, building a mosque in France seems exceedingly difficult.)

For the left, the Swiss referendum really asked whether people are accepting. Being open-minded and accepting the Other tests commitment to universal beliefs, hence left-wing preoccupation with migrants, Muslims, and the third world. For the left, the Swiss failed this test.

For the right, the Swiss referendum really asked about national identity. Having some sort of national creed matters to conservatives. This explains a bizarre investigation into national identity that president Sarkozy launched in France, setting a backbeat to upcoming regional elections.

“I only regret that I have but one life to give my country.”

These last words have been attributed to Nathan Hale, who fought in the war for American independence. A spy, Hale had been captured by redcoats and, on September 22, 1776, was hanged. Hale was 21.

Growing up in the cold war, but also in the shadow of Vietnam, the story of Hale’s patriotism taught that American liberty was won at a price. It was part of the standard American history.

In France, this date marks the anniversary of the execution of Guy Môquet, on October 22, 1941, at age 17.

Like his father, a communist member of parliament, Môquet was drawn to left-wing politics. When Nazi Germany occupied France, the elder Môquet was stripped of his office and deported to North Africa. The younger Môquet distributed anti-war materials in the streets, until he was arrested and imprisoned.

After a three-man commando team assassinated a German officer, the occupying authorities decided to execute political prisoners in reprisal. Môquet was among those chosen. Before his execution, Môquet wrote a letter to his family. It’s basically a farewell by a condemned man to his family; it isn’t particularly patriotic or political.

I first learned about Guy Môquet because a Paris métro station bears his name. (For curious travelers, the station is on the 13 line, “behind” or north of Montmartre.) While waiting for the métro, I noticed a display case that features some relics by or about Môquet, including a copy of his letter.

French president Sarkozy has “never been able to read or hear Guy Môquet’s letter without being deeply moved by it.” He found the letter so meaningful that, soon after he was elected president, he asked that high school students (or their teachers) be required to read the letter, every October 22.

Official education ministry directives implemented the president’s desire. There was some debate this week whether the reading of the letter was actually compulsory or only a request. French education minister Luc Chatel cut short that speculation by insisting that the reading was obligatory. Presidential adviser Henri Guaino opined that “teachers have a duty: their duty is to do their teaching job and to follow orders”.

French teachers don’t like being pushed around, and I don’t doubt that they’ll push back. Politics aside, I think that Môquet’s letter has been given prominence wrongfully, for three reasons:

1. Sentimentality. Sarkozy seems attached to the letter because of how it makes him feel. But Môquet and his execution were historically unimportant (even if they were personally tragic). Môquet was not a résistant. The résistants arguably were those who shot the German officer.
2. Sacrilege. I’m made very uncomfortable when a secular state seems to depict Môquet’s execution as an expiatory sacrifice that washed away the taint of occupation or collaboration. This representation isn’t farfetched, because the text of the letter is familial and personal, not political.
3. Sordid. Môquet is celebrated as a victim, not as an actor. Is this patriotism? I think not. But it does betray a prurient fascination with child-victims, evident in the extent and detail of media coverage of child abuse or crimes that involve children.

My American friends may have trouble believing that there really is a political party in France called the New Anti-Capitalist Party. Its French initials are NPA, and it’s the successor to the Revolutionary Communist League.

For my American friends, I’d describe the NPA as a protest party, with no serious chance of holding elective office.

Though the NPA may be little, its graphic design is world class.

Here’s an example I saw while biking around Paris this weekend, affixed to a utility box beside a canal near La Villette, a neighborhood with a working-class, left-wing past that has been undergoing gentrification and “bobo”-fication. My example features two posters. One pledges to tax the bosses, with an interesting image of a fat cat. I’m intrigued by the image because, to my eyes, it succeeds in being lighthearted (like a comic book) and deadly serious (because the boss is sitting on a pile of money that could otherwise used to boost wages and create jobs). The other is a generic poster for the party. Both posters show the NPA logo, a red-and-white logo of a loudspeaker: it’s a protest, a clenched fist; and it’s also a cry, transmitted by the megaphone speaker. The NPA stands for organized protest. The red background recalls the party’s far-left heritage; the white sans-serif lettering speaks clearly.

The quality of the NPA graphic design stands out, especially in comparison with the UMP, the governing party in France today. The UMP’s logo echoes the French (or Paris) flag. The party initials are written in serifed characters. In small print, in blue on a white background, the party is also identified as “the popular movement”, which doesn’t correspond (in French) to the UMP initials. Finally, there is a big tree in the middle of the logo. Why? If you’re not among the initiated, it’s hard to know why.