And not a creature was stirring, except for these louts

The tv was warming above the chimney all bare

In hopes that St. Nicolas would have a good scare

The children were drunk and sunburnt instead

While visions of white-skirted baguettes danced round their heads…

One can never be sure with French politics whether the evening will end with broken bottles, funny hats, massive screaming, or just several bald men stepping out of line. Our elections night, where, among the voters present Bayrou won hands down, was tarnished by these two baldies, both of which were virulent Sarko supporters. The screaming and tantrum pulling was enough to make me throw two books at their heads (Oh Beckett and Strindberg! You deserve better!). If they represent the right, there’s no hope for intelligent life in this country. The next time I’m going to put an immigration policy on my door: no village idiots allowed.

This is just a little taster of my forthcoming dissection of the French Presidential Election posters but has anyone  else noticed the uncanny ressemblance of Ségolène Royal’s main election poster to Barbara Kruger’s artwork? Methinks this is no coincidence.

Candidat du Grand Rassemblement.

Si je suis élu, je promets immediatement une nouvelle election presidentielle! Et si je suis reélu, je promets immediatement une nouvelle election presidentielle!

_______________________________

(Candidate for Bringing People Together - If I am elected, I promise to immediately hold a new presidential election! And if I am re-elected, I promise to immediately hold another new presidential election!)

There was a lot of chanting coming from the window, almost drowning out the voice of Julius Caesar himself. Drawn by suspicions of local uprising, I pulled back the windows and pressed my ear to crack in the window. Punctuated by horns and whistles was some kind of mantra… It sounded like they were saying something about pink. So we decided to creep down and find out where all the bonfires were lit.

B lives near the UMP headquarters so he’s used to the cops. But I’m not. Tonight they’re in a straight line before us, facing something I can’t quite make out behind the plastic shields. Are those people or tentacles? Impossible to breach those stony face automatons so we wander around slip behind the arch. Now we’re on the side of the tentacles, strings of people wandering and huddling, some with wine bottles. Closer in the throng grows thicker. Finally piercing from behind four bespectacles large-scarf wearers, the image becomes clear. It’s a regular sit down.

Bodies are strewn up and down the street, all prone and misshapen. Sometimes heads turn but the sea of people lying down in the street remains quite static. Floating above is a banner, something about flowers, sequins and Sarkozy. Thoughtful and thoughtless, young and middle-aged, all those armed with cameras old and digital are flashing away. I’m almost run over by a floppy fringed blond teenager armed with some old plastic dinky point and shoot. He must be in artschool. Then, everyone stands up and starts chanting again.

I guess it’s kind of a nice protest but it reminds me of some dippy multi-scarved freaks I kept seeing creeping off the plane in Kathmandu, their doe-eyed henna glance hiding a frightening yearning for conformity. The election and its accompanying protests bore me to tears. Makes me yearn for the days of bottle throwing and banlieue bastards.

"May you live in interesting times." 

I lost my cherry today… my French protest cherry. I am neither for nor against the CPE but Mardi Noir (Black Tuesday) promised to be an event unlike any I had ever experienced in France. The nation-wide strike, with every major union and student body in force, plus whoever else wanted to hang on, was set to march through the major scenes of Paris’s beloved past: Place de la Bastille, Place de la République. I had to go and see it for myself, see the seething crowds screaming for blood where a couple of centuries before France’s love for revolution had been born.

(more…)

I was discussing, with a Parisienne student today, the nature of the recent violence and crime associated with the protests (the group of people who came in to beat people for their cellphones) and she said it actually made her scared. She felt that a boundary, the unspoken boundary of the Periph, had been crossed. The violence and crime associated with disaffected youth from the suburbs had finally breached the barrier.

Which, in turn, made me realise how the protestors are those who will have access to jobs in the higher eschelons, and that their protests are not recognised by young uneducated thugs precisely because they don’t even see this kind of future as possible. Which in turn brings me to the CPE. It was created to help ease employment situations among the discontented and discouraged youth of the suburbs. Is fighting against the CPE then a means for the privileged class to remain privileged?

Why is this picture is strange. First of all because I’m a Right Bank kid, never venturing into the touristy university land which is the 6th arrondissement unless somebody hogties me to their cause. Second of all because this is the Place de Sorbonne, usually full of tourists and students. And here we are, the Lacombite and myself, all alone excepting several blue vans full of cops and one giant watercannon. If you look closely at this tiny picture, you can just make out the metal barriers behind us, blocking all entry into the square from the Boulevard Saint Michel.

And here’s the delightful watercannon.

I may not be the biggest advocate of the current CPE protests, but I respect their right to wave flags and jump around. It’s healthy to jump up and down, especially in a country where physical education is not a priority. However, what I don’t respect is a small tiny population of hooligans wreaking havoc and destroying the true sentiment and message of said protests. These people, and I don’t even know if they’re students or just a bunch of clowns, would use any window of unrest to play out their own games of destruction. To this, I would also add that the riot control police are way out of line. Seriously, smashing batons around indiscriminately is a recipe for failure.

I love it that when push comes to shove, Chirac is nowhere to be found. When the youth riots hit France last fall, Chirac was spinning gold out of straw high in his tower. When student protests heat up, Chirac is waving his flag… in another country. That’s right. Chirac was finally spotted in Turin today, waving hands violently at girls with no legs and trying to kiss all women within the vicinity, during the closing ceremonies of the Para-Olympics. That old blind fox certainly knows his way around the warrens and he’s not surfacing in Paris anytime soon.

Sarko was left to the mercy of the wolves last fall and this time it’s de Villepin’s turn to get skinned. Chirac would eat all the fried chicken in the world if it could get him more votes. Sometimes I think he just needs a bluescreen since what really interests Chirac is finding the right background for his beautific face. The only time he’s stuck out his neck recently was for the referendum yet somehow he’s managed to weasel himself out of the limelight long enough for us to forget. (more…)

“Dans une société qui a aboli toute aventure, la seule aventure qui reste est celle d‘abolir la société.”
In a society that has abolished all adventures, the only adventure left is to abolish society.

This is a slogan from the May 1968 uprising in France. The uprising came from Situationist politics and had everything to do politically-engaged youth that wanted their culture to be put into their own hands, wanted their lives to be less ruled by the state.

First, a little Situationist lesson, so that we’re all on the same page. (more…)