Elections

I missed posting during the entire month of May, having bottomed out at the end of the first week when France elected right-winger Nicolas Sarkozy as its next president.

Even though statistics published during the two weeks between the first and second rounds of voting pointed to a probable victory for “Sarko,” May 6 saw most of us in this village still hoping that he would be defeated by his opponent, Ségolène Royal, who had, in our opinion, won hands down the final hours’ Presidential debate. Both candidates had finally shown their true colors, but ALAS, too late. To paraphrase what my sister wrote in a recent email: you would think that, given what’s transpired in the United States over the past several years, people everywhere would open their eyes and think seriously about the direction the world is taking for its (our) future… and not support another version of Bush. No comment.

The evening of May 6, my partner and I joined several members of his family to watch the returns after the polls had closed. Everyone was glued to the TV screen as the French flag began to unfurl, disclosing the image of the nation’s newest president. Even the little kids in the room were on pins and needles, their faces buried in their hands, chanting, “not Sarkozy, not Sarkozy.” One of them, stoically optimistic, remarked, “Tiens, au moins ce n’est pas LePen.” An évidence? I can only say peut-être, since Sarkozy stands to the right of even LePen on some issues. He cleverly succeeded in leading a campaign that seduced LePen supporters into voting for him. Let me nudge your interpretation of that observation along by noting that in no way am I applauding Sarkozy’s intelligence.

Everyone around me continues to lament the path upon which France has set itself. Well, not quite everyone. The couple that runs the local bakery and one of my neighbors are notable exceptions. They didn’t divulge their political leanings until I’d already put both feet in my mouth: while waiting in line one day just after the big debate and before the final election, I voiced my opinion about the candidates, giving high marks to Royal's intelligence and poise. I don’t generally allow myself that kind of freedom of expression because this is a very small community across which the smallest morsel of information travels quickly.

On the heels of what I thought was an open and innocuous conversation (because the town is so liberal), the normally warm and chatty baker’s wife stopped speaking to me. It was thankfully a short-lived cold-shoulder; after all, France is a country where arguing different viewpoints is a past-time as popular as boules. I couldn’t figure out what gaff I’d made, so chalked it up to some bee-in-a-bonnet that had nothing to do with me. Not until after Sarkozy’s victory did I learn that the bakers were two of the few folks in this village who had voted for Sarkozy. One of the others is my neighbor, who was in the bakery the day of the “foot-in-mouth” incident. She and her husband canceled each other’s votes, which they've apparently been doing since they were married 30+ years ago. Since every conversation we'd ever had pointed to more liberal tendencies, I was surprised by her support for Sarkozy.

She’s not the only quasi-liberal in France to have made such a choice. The explanation for this may lie in the rather centrist position of the Socialist Party, which has become more and more conservative over the years. The shock of yet another Socialist defeat (remember how Jean-Marie LePen trounced Jospin last time around) may finally move the PS towards some serious re-evaluations. In the meantime, however, France has five-5-cinq years under the Sarkozy regime.

And regime it will be: he’s not known for discussing ideas; a recent cartoon image in the Canard Enchaîné depicts him as Napoleon wearing tennis shoes. There’s already a buzz about that measures will be drastic. For instance, the talk last week was that the policy allowing free entry into museums once a month may already be on the cutting board. The reasoning is that it may not be a “good idea” to let people have something for free. OK, sure, no problem – after all, the arts are for the elite, n’est-ce pas? The rest of us more humble folks could never understand them anyway. I don’t think this is the reasoning behind the proposed cut, however; I think it has more to do with the government’s posture on the workweek. This is a complicated idea to explain in a short blog. Suffice it to say that, apparently, those who are “financially challenged” have been promised the opportunity of working more hours. On the surface, this seems like a logical solution. It’s an illusion, however, since there’s no talk of raising the minimum wage and there isn’t any more work out there that would allow one to earn more money. One gentleman, the owner and director of his own company, told me that he’s already hard pressed to find enough for his employees to do during the current 35-hour workweek (which Sarkozy will do away with). He doesn’t have enough business to offer supplemental hours. And his employees have no desire to work longer hours. They’d rather stick with the 35-hour week and a lower income in the interest of going home early to be with their families. Curiously, many of these same folks voted for Sarkozy. His promise to provide them with more buying power lured them in. He never explained how he’d realize the goal of providing more work; this sticking point either went unnoticed or didn’t bother a considerable number of French voters.

My comments end here in favor of sharing an email that's been circulating this week in liberal circles. I’ve translated it into English, but if you scroll down, you can read the original French version. It’s a conversation between an American banker and a Mexican fisherman, but it takes little to imagine the same conversation between two people of other nationalities, or even between two people sharing the same nationality…
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A little village on the Mexican coastline. The sun is shining and there’s a slight breeze. A boat comes back into the harbor with several freshly caught tunas. An American compliments the Mexican fisherman on the quality of his fish and asks him how long it took him to catch them.

“A few hours,” replies the Mexican.

“So why didn’t you stay longer in order to catch more fish?” asks the American.

The Mexican explains that his family only needs a few fish.

The American then asks: “But what do you do with the rest of your time?”

“I sleep late, I fish a bit, I play with my kids, I take naps with my wife. At night I go into the village to see my friends. We drink wine and play guitar. I have quite a busy life.”

The American interrupts him to say, “I have an MBA from Harvard and can help you. First, you should start fishing longer hours. With the money that will bring in, you’ll be able to buy a bigger boat. And with the money the bigger boat will help you bring in, you’ll be able to buy a second boat, and so forth and so on… until you own a whole flotilla of trawlers. Instead of selling your fish through an intermediary, you could negotiate directly with the factory. In fact, you could open your own factory. Then you could leave your tiny village for Mexico City or Los Angeles, then maybe New York, where you yourself would lead all your own business dealings.

The Mexican then asks: “How much time would this take me?”

“Fifteen to twenty years,” replies the banker.

“And then?” asks the Mexican.

“Then things get interesting,” says the banker, laughing. “When the moment arrives, you’ll be able to introduce your company into the stock market and you’ll earn millions.”

“Millions? But what then?”

“Then you’ll have a well-deserved retirement, you’ll come back here to live in your little seaside village to sleep late, play with your grandchildren, fish a bit, take naps with your wife, and spend your evenings drinking and playing guitar with your friends!”


“….????”
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Au bord de la mer, dans un petit village de la côte mexicaine. Il y a du soleil et une petite brise. Un bateau rentre au port avec quelques thons fraîchement pêchés. Un Américain complimente le pêcheur mexicain sur la qualité de ses poissons et lui demande combien de temps il lui a fallu pour les capturer.

« Quelques heures », répond le Mexicain.

« Mais alors, pourquoi n'êtes-vous pas resté en mer plus longtemps pour en attraper plus ? » demande l'Américain.

Le Mexicain répond que ces quelques poissons suffiront à subvenir aux besoins de sa famille.

L'Américain demande alors : « Mais que faites-vous le reste du temps ? »

« Je fais la grasse matinée, je pêche un peu, je joue avec mes enfants, je fais la sieste avec ma femme. Le soir je vais au village voir mes amis. Nous buvons du vin et jouons de la guitare. J'ai une vie bien remplie ».

L'Américain l'interrompt : « J'ai un MBA de l'université de Harvard et je peux vous aider. Vous devriez commencer par pêcher plus longtemps. Avec les bénéfices dégagés, vous pourriez acheter un plus gros bateau. Avec l'argent que vous rapporterait ce bateau, vous pourriez en acheter un deuxième et ainsi de suite, jusqu'à ce que vous possédiez une flotte de chalutiers. Au lieu de vendre vos poissons a un intermédiaire, vous pourriez négocier directement avec l'usine, et même ouvrir votre propre usine. Vous pourriez alors quitter votre petit village pour Mexico City, Los Angeles, puis peut être New York, d'où vous dirigeriez toutes vos affaires ».

Le Mexicain demande alors : « Combien de temps cela me prendrait-il ? »

« 15 a 20 ans », répond le banquier.

« Et après ? »

« Après, c'est là que ça devient intéressant, répond l'américain en riant. Quand le moment sera venu, vous pourrez introduire votre Société en bourse et vous gagnerez des millions ».

« Des millions ? Mais après ? »

« Après, vous pourrez prendre une retraite bien méritée, revenir habiter votre petit village en bord de mer pour y faire la grasse matinée, jouer avec vos petits-enfants, pêcher un peu, faire la sieste avec votre femme, et passer vos soirées à boire et à jouer de la guitare avec vos amis !!! »

« .....???? »

[H. Thomas, Genève]