Au revoir

The world's tallest cliché. How many million times have these pictures been taken? I certainly recommend seeing it at night.







This may be my last message from France as I am leaving in a few days. I perhaps may issue a valedictory address next week upon my return...

The last few days have been busy as it has hit me that I leave soon and still have some things to finish up.

I awoke a couple of days ago to a morning of cold, gray drizzle reminding me of February. I trudged down to my station with all the other Métro-riding drones. As usual, the wait for my first train was short and I boarded with the others to a half-filled compartment. Rather than sit, I stood, as I am taking a new route to the BN as my second train, the 14, is closed for the next several days as the line is being extended one stop past the BN. My new connecting line, the 6 (Etoile-Nation) is only two stops away and it is scarcely worth the trouble of sitting. The connecting hub station, Nation, is much smaller than my old hub, the Gare de Lyon and I have just a one-minute walk to my connecting train.

The 6 line feels more working class than the 1 or the 14. The trains are older as each car is independent of the rest and the doors do not open automatically. Also, one notices a much more worldly mix of passengers from all countries and social levels as opposed to the somewhat bourgeois 1. Moreover, the line itself is a rougher ride with some tighter turns and bumpy spots. One good thing about my new line though is that when I change trains at Nation it is at the line's beginning (or end as the case may be) so the train sits and waits to be filled and then leaves the station, usually in two to three minutes. Most mornings of my connection I can get a seat (it is a six-station ride to another station nearest the BN) so I can wear the "Continental" mask in relative comfort for the fifteen-minute ride. This particular morning I was not so lucky. I walked up the steps from my line and found a train waiting in the departure lane. However, the train was already mostly filled with passengers. Odd. I found a compartment and entered. The older trains have six sets of sliding double doors, three pairs to a side. Beside each door are two strapontins (maybe jumpseats in English) that one can press down the spring-loaded seat from the vertical to the horizontal so one can sit down. Riders who take just a few stops usually sit in these temporary seats and they tend to take the "defender" position. When the cars fill those seated have to stand to make more room so on crowded times these seats are rarely used. The prime seats are behind the strapontins, four pairs of double seats facing each other. Riders who are on the Métro for more than a few stops prefer the relative comfort and convenience of those seats. I have noticed that readers especially favor them.

Two strapontins were left and I sat down on one of them, looking bored with life: oh, the pain of living in Paris. I, along with the rest, waited. And waited. After two minutes the driver asked us for our patience as "a passenger has become ill" on a train many stops ahead (well past the BN stop). I was not really sure what that cryptic message meant but as we waited more passengers emerged from the bowels below the station waiting for a new train and they lumbered into my compartment. At this point it was too crowded to sit and one by one the eight strapontin riders, including myself, stood with a grumble. However, and thankfully, the horn blew, the doors closed and we were off after perhaps a five minute delay. I was not particularly worried as this day I was on my own schedule and had no worries about being "late" to work.

Unfortunately, the delicate timing and coordination of our line was now terribly off. I could come up with some metaphor like a trapeze artist and partner but I am not sure that quite fits but one gets the idea. My compartment was now officially crowded, but not unpleasantly so: I at least had six inches of "personal space." I balanced myself against the non-opening doors behind me and a now-vertical strapontin to my left. We made it to the next stop, Picpus, and I saw this usually empty station with more passengers than before. The doors opened and six more came into the compartment. The doors closed and we left my personal space down to five inches. The train went forward, though slower than usual, perhaps because of the crowded compartments. The next station, Bel-Air (outdoors, rather than underground) saw an even larger crowd awaiting. Another five came in my particular area. Personal space: four inches. Dugommier and Dausmenil followed with even more passengers. I had never seen so many people in a station…with the timing thrown off and more and more passengers "missing" their train because of our delay I could now see a surly crowd at the station, some five ranks deep, all wanting to get on our particular train. And more potential passengers (all a bit damp and certainly all crabby looking) were coming up the stairs to be greeted by an unfriendly crowd. Six more squeezed in: personal space, One half inch. I thought I could smell wet dog.

At the next stop, Bercy, things almost became comical. It is no myth that Tokyo subways have professional, white-gloved "pushers" (I am sure there is an official name for them) whose job is to push people into train compartments during rush hour. The French have no need of them: they push themselves in the train. At Bercy there was literally no space in my compartment. I certainly by this time was well acquainted with the four passengers around me. When we stopped I could see a crowd, eight people deep awaiting a train. As the doors opened and some more tried to get in I heard some female voice plaintively cry out "please wait for the next train!" Someone else asked to open the small long windows at the atop of the larger passenger windows so we could get some fresh air. One man, the bulldog, did not listen to or care for that woman's plea as he, ass-backwards, began to bull his way into the compartment. I was certainly glad I was not near the opening doors as I had no desire to become intimate with him. My morning had become a demented form of transit Twister. When the doors tried to close they hit his shoulders so he pushed back even more: personal space now, negative three inches as I was inhaling in my muffin top to make more room.

Of course now it did not really matter how bumpy our ride was now as I had a living airbag of other passengers around me. If perhaps I could have lifted my legs somehow I would not have fallen down. The train groaned into my destination stop, the Quai de la Gare (another outdoor stop, this time elevated, see the picture far below). The doors opened and it is a good thing that I am about as wide as Barney Fife for I have no idea how I could have gotten out of that train otherwise. I poked and prodded my way out with my hands in front of me held as a "V" so I could use the power of a wedge to make my escape grunting out a few "pardon's" as I went. Just like the bulldog I was going to get out no matter what as I shed my normal Anglo-Saxon reserve.

I took a breath of fresh air and took my walk to the BN. This new station is only a couple of blocks farther away from the BN than my old station and on this day I appreciated the five-minute walk to shake off the feelings of entrapment and claustrophobia. Even the mild drizzle felt good. While never coming close to panicking I can safely say at a few moments I at least felt nervous. By the time I reached the BN those feelings mostly passed and I was processed and readied for my day's work…

This day of work had its own annoyances interesting distractions. I sat at a large wooden table that has five places on each side so ten readers can work at once. Each place has a lamp affixed to the table and also a plug as nearly everyone has a laptop. The materials and the construction are not cheap and one feels a sense of solidity. The reading rooms at the BN are mostly composed of such tables and I would hazard that on one side there are fifty rows of these tables stretching out in the distance, only to be broken up every ten rows by "stations" where one goes to pick up books and materials from the BN staff.

Surrounding us are elephantine poured concrete columns that stretch up six stories to the ceiling creating a cathedralesque impression. The carpet, orange-red, mutes the sound of passersby.

That day I was reading another trade journal, Vente et Publicité. Three others were seated around me this particular morning. Puffy the whale sits across from me. Puffy is not especially large, but I have crowned him "Puffy" because every twenty seconds he emitted some loud breath of moist air from his blowhole as he read his various books strewn about his workplace (he is a philosopher based upon his reading selection). I thought about timing those puffs of air as they seemed most regular at one time but I thought better of it…

Next to me was "Hurricane Alice." "Hurricane Alice" had several quite large folios of 18th century books whose pages are nearly as large as a daily newspaper. Like me, she was quick reader or a scanner and she would turn the pages quite vigorously. As a result a "whoosh" of air descended upon me with the turning of each page. I was assured of good ventilation that bordered on the chilly as the paper crackled from her quick perusings.

On my left is "Clicky." Clicky, chunky man in his mid fifties, is the rare reader who does not have a laptop. Instead, he had a Bic pen (did you know that the Bic pen was invented by a French industrialist, Baron Marcel Bich?) "Clicky" was taking notes from his book and he liked to click, emphatically and triumphantly, his pen after he wrote each sentence. Every sentence to "Clicky" seemed to be an Archimedean "eureka."

As a result, at time that morning I lost concentration as the day progressed with: puff…whoosh…click…puff…whoosh…click…puff…whoosh…click. It was a bit comical at first and some times the sounds had a metronomic regularity. However, after about a half hour of this, what had first seemed amusing turned into distracting then annoying and then finally aggravating.

And, then, of course, there is me. I am sure my fellow readers might have some complaints about me. One of my many flaws is my inability to sit still for any period of time. If anyone has attended a movie with me one would witness countless gyrations during the film as I try to find a comfortable position. At the BN I am like a hyperkinetic hamster as I think my record of sitting still is about fifteen minutes. Between those sittings I find myself going to the electronic catalogue to find some other material, walking next to the glass enclosed 'forest' in the ambulatory, trying to get something photocopied.

By one p.m. I had had enough and I still had some errands to do so I turned in my materials and was "reprocessed" so I could leave the BN. I stopped at home briefly to pick up a shopping bag of fifteen or so books I had either bought or brought with me to France: there is no way I could lug them to London and then back to the US. As it was only mid afternoon it was an ideal time to go to my sleepy branch. I entered and was pleased to see just a couple of people in line for the two postal clerks. After a two-minute wait it was my turn and I told the clerk of my need to send my books home to the US at the most economical rate as speed was not important.

This request spurred a flurry of activity. I do not think there are many such requests done in my neighborhood and there seemed to be some confusion about the process. The pleasant and helpful clerk asked to see my books and I brandished my plastic shopping bag, bulging with pointy books to her as proof. She nodded and disappeared into a back room through a windowless door. At this point more people started to flood into the office (perhaps lunch time had ended) and a line started to fill in behind me.

After at least three minutes Madame returned with a piece of cardboard from a box, somewhat irregularly shaped, three by six inches and pushed it through the glass window (the French post offices also serve as banks so the clerks can also serve as "tellers") and instructed me to write my delivery address. This seemed a bit odd but who was I to argue and I tried to print my address as clearly and as boldly as possible without puncturing the rather thin cardboard. Then, Madame disappeared again. I know I am imagining it but I could feel the line of some twelve people behind me starting to resent me as I was keeping them from their business with my prolonged transaction. My head began to hurt so perhaps someone behind me was psychokinetically shooting gamma rays at my head.

Madame returned from the back room and asked me for my books and I put the bag in a circular revolving window and she rotated the window around and then took them to the back room again disappearing for a few minutes. During this time I noticed the woman in the other line to my right was in the process of some complicated transaction herself so there was no movement at all in the line. She was a sweet elderly woman that no one could dislike so as a result the hostility of the line was borne full brunt upon the simple foreigner.

A last time a smiling Madame returned from the back room and told me everything was set. Suddenly, the whole transaction seemed suspiciously easy. I did not have to do any packing or sealing or fill out some importation/exportation form. Was this all a joke? Were postal clerks in the back reading "Trois siècles de publicité en France" and getting ready to divy up the rest for their home libraries? It was no longer funny when Madame sat down and then clicked a few buttons on her computer bringing up a monetary total on a screen by my face that was equal to the gross national product of several sub-Saharan countries. I gulped. I did not have that much cash with me. It was too late now to reconsider and then ask to have my books back--I could have brought on a postal riot against me. I asked Madame if they took credit cards and she said yes so relievedly I gave her my card.

Of course, you know what happened: the French postal service only takes French-style credit cards with a special chip implanted in them. It became five degrees warmer in the office. I told Madame that I only lived three minutes away and could return with the 117 Euros. She smiled (as she had my books) and I scuttled away, avoiding the eyes of those in line behind me. A quick run home found me going through my pockets to come up with that much money as I am leaving soon I was trying to run out of Euros.

I returned to the branch and of course went to the back of the line. A bolder person (or a French person) would have probably cut in front of the eight others but I had done enough damage. I did notice that the grandmotherly woman was still making her transaction. After ten minutes of waiting it was my turn again and I put 120 Euros through the glass window. Madame was a bit puzzled: the bill was not that much. Then she nodded to herself and told me that the 117 total was the old French Francs amount (by law France still posts prices still in Euros and in Francs so people can make the mental adjustment still). Some how that number had come up on her screen as opposed to the Euro total, an incredibly reasonable (that is if my books ever make it) 16 Euros. Of course, I had had that much money with me to begin with. And if it did arrive, would it arrive via burlap bag and burro?

Combining this with the morning's Métro aggravation and the library's distractions I felt like taking out a hatchet (or buying one as I now had plenty of cash) and running amok, sans culottes, down the Champs Elysées to wreak havoc...

Visitors

As previously stated, I am much behind in my entries. Three weeks ago I had the good fortune of having two of my friends from Montevallo, Robert and Deborah, visit me for several days. We had the luck of reasonable weather (save for a rainy trip to Versailles), a protest march, and some great backdrops of Paris for touring. It is hard to imagine having better guests as they are seasoned travellers and certainly "knew the drill" for navigating around a large city.

Workers of the world, unite!

CGT members getting ready for their march

More Demonstration Photographs

CGT members readying for their turn to march.


Accumulated debris


The "protestors" from another earlier photo having a drink at Place de la Republique


People liked wearing signs


Students at Place de la Bastille

Prague Spring

That title was too good to pass up.

Because of technical difficulties, the need to still work, a few visitors, and various demonstrations I have fallen desperately behind in my blog postings. A few readers have emailed me about my trip last month and I need to oblige…

Through circumstance and connections I went to Prague for a long week-end last month. Like my trip to Verdun it was not a long-planned trip but it was a city that I had heard great things about and wished to visit at some point. I had never traveled to Central Europe or visited a former Soviet-bloc state and this was an opportune situation. A friend of mine, David, is an American expatriate working on his doctorate in ecology and has lived in Prague seven of the last twelve years and speaks fluent Czech. He had a free window of time and a hide-a-bed and I had a credit card so I booked a flight in late February.

European air travel reminds me of air transport in the US in the early 1980s: it is still the province of the middle classes and above. Train transport is cheaper for the most part, and while often not faster, remains king of travel options in Europe. Intra-European air travel does not see the cattle-car type feeling one gets in Atlanta, Chicago, or Dallas, or any of the other super-terminals in the States. I flew out of Charles De Gaulle in Paris on a mid-Friday afternoon and had arrived early for fear of long lines but I had the feeling of traveling out of a much smaller city and terminal due to the lack of crowds. There was one brief moment of panic though for as I arrived at the multi-terminal airport at Charles de Gaulle I could not find my gate as the bank of six departure monitors (in a row arranged by the half hour) for my particular half hour monitor was not working and there were no clues as to which gate or terminal (CDG has six terminals) I should take. No person of authority was nearby and CDG is not like an American airport with a bank of monitors every fifty feet. At CDG they just have one set of monitors in every terminal. I chose a terminal at random and after a half mile walk I found that I chose the wrong one…a quick scramble and a shuttlebus and some nervous moments found me at the correct gate.

I arrived right on time in Prague after a brief layover in Zurich and a stunning view of the Alps from the air. Winter was still clinging to Prague as the city had actually seen a few inches of snow that morning. My trip through customs took all of five minutes and I met David and he drove us back to the heart of Prague. We briefly stopped at his apartment to drop off my bag and then we headed out to a Prague pivensa, or a pub for dinner and a few beers (just a few, I promise). The Czech Republic, formed of the two provinces of Bohemia and Moravia, is the European king of beers and has the highest per capita consumption in the world. I can understand why as the beer certainly is delicious there, and, compared to France, ridiculously inexpensive.

Of course, the Czech Republic is more important for other reasons. The Czechs are a Slavic people, having arrived in Europe like so many others as semi-nomadic invaders in the first millennium. During the Middle Ages the Czechs built a powerful and important European kingdom based around Prague and the large Vltava River that bisects the city. By the 1300s, Prague was one of the largest and wealthiest cities in Europe boasting a massive Gothic cathedral, a university, and a prosperous urban middle class. Also, the Czech rulers followed a mostly tolerant policy toward it Jewish inhabitants so a Jewish quarter arose in the city. This wealth, however, attracted larger and more powerful neighbors and as was the case for so many middle-size powers, the larger Austrian Empire took over the Czechs, ruling over them for some four hundred years. While the relationship between England and Ireland is not exactly the same, one could see the Austrians ruling the Czechs much as the British ruled the Irish: The Habsburg Austrians administered the people with a harsh Germanic efficiency that saw the Germanization of the Slavic people in terms of language, culture, and religion. The Vltava became the Moldau, Plzen became Pilsen, Brno became Brun, and so on. The Catholic Austrian rulers worked hard to reduce the influence of the proto-Protestant Jan Hus and the Hussites who were so influential in the 1400s.

Even during this “foreign” rule, Czech culture flourished and prospered and the area never lost the totality of its own traditions. One can certainly see this in architecture with a number of onion-domed buildings that reminded one of the Kremlin as the architecture is a mix of both West and East. Prague had the good fortune of missing physical damage during the Second World War and as a result the city is a living architecture class.
In fact, I have never visited a city that pays so much detail to architecture: even the most mundane apartment block has some redeeming architectural flourish or embellishment. Friezes, sculptures, mosaics, paintings, nearly every building had some aspect of one of these (or all of these).

Of course, the Czechs have more history to tell. At the end of the Great War, out of the wreckage of Austrian Empire, the Czechs and Slovaks formed an independent state of which nationalists had longed dreamed. From 1919-1938, Czechoslovakia was a vibrant and prosperous democracy in Central Europe. Even as neighboring countries turned to either Fascism or dictatorships, Czechoslovakia remained democratic. Sadly, however, the French and English sacrificed the young country on the altar of appeasement to Hitler and before the Second World War Nazi Germany took over and dismantled the country, turning it once more into a servile appendage. Much of the Jewish population died during the Holocaust or fled the country. The end of the war saw democracy briefly restored but by 1948 Soviet influence saw a Communist dictatorship emerge and for over forty years the East now ruled the Czechs.

Nineteen sixty-eight saw hope emerge in Czechoslovakia as the reform-minded Premier, Alexandr Dubcek started a policy of “openness” (or “Communism with a human face”) that proceeded Gorbachev’s similar policy of glasnost by nearly twenty years. The “Prague Spring” of 1968 was the first challenge to the Soviet state since the Hungarian uprising in 1956 and Czechs believed that this was their chance. Sadly, Brezhnev of the USSR brooked no opposition and in the summer of 1968 forces from other Warsaw Pact countries invaded to “restore order.” A Prague university student, Jan Palach, reminiscent of the later bravery of the man with the shopping bag facing the tanks in Tienamen Square in 1989, set himself on fire to protest the invasion. He died of his wounds three days later. The Prague Spring turned into winter once more for twenty more years until the people-powered “Velvet Revolution” of 1989 overthrew the Communist regime and restored democracy.

One could now say that the Czech Republic is facing a new invasion: that of tourists and of the West. One difficulty with visiting Prague is that it is has been “discovered” in the last fifteen years. As my friend Ross says, once Fodor’s Guide Books discovers you it is all over. Prague in some sense has it all: a central and compact location, cheap prices (compared to Western Europe things cost nearly half), and a friendly populace eager for tourist dollars. As a result Prague has become a tourist Mecca and even visiting the last days of winter and the first day of spring I found there to be a larger number of tourists than I would have believed. I asked my host what the summers were like and he said that he just avoids the old town entirely as the crush is so overwhelming.

Of course, I am a tourist as well in Prague but the sheer numbers and weight of them already seemed oppressive as tour buses disgorged throngs in what I only can describe as “industrial tourism.” We wandered by the main sites but went inside none as I had no taste to be in a cathedral location that would feel more like a train station than anything else. Groups and individuals had their virtual checksheets of physical locales to mark of their lists of “have-to-sees” without having any context in which to base their observations. When the requisite hour was spent at the church, cathedral, or museum (with most of that time spent at the gift shop) the drones moved en masse to their next destination to repeat the experience. Experience with the “locals” would be waiters and hotel clerks. Once home, the checksheet of cultural “accomplishments” could be brought to work to lord over other neighboring and disinterested cubicle drones to show their cultural superiority in a touristic armsrace (for an extreme example, see Jon Krakauer’s “Into Thin Air”). As a result, part of Prague had the feel of a European Epcot center: Czech culture and history had been successfully distilled, packaged, and covered with plastic (for your protection)

The unbridled rush to capitalism (see the film about post-Soviet East Berlin called “Good-bye Lenin”) in some parts of the town are a bit evident for in some areas new McDonalds and KFC can been seen sprouting up in neighborhoods where they clearly do not “fit.” However, in some sense, that made Prague seem a bit more real: at least the “future” could have a place beside the heavily marketed past. The Czechs feel a sense of optimism though and the general mentality is that with joining the EU (and to be on the Euro in the next few years) living standards and quality of life will equal that of Germany and Austria to the West within the next decade. Sadly, I saw many beggars in the streets, many taking the position of a silent medieval supplicant, prostrate on the ground, head bowed with a bowl in front of them for donations.

David and I did visit one small exhibition off the beaten path—a small display of photographs taken in former Soviet non-Russian Republics. Nearly all of the fifty or so photos showed those living on the margins in those areas: Steel workers in Kazakhstan, semi-nomads in Uzbekhistan, homeless in Moldavia and the like. It was simple, thought-provoking, and wonderful. Furthermore, it cost $1.50 and one other person was there. Now, that’s the type of tourism for me!

The March

Just a generic slice of the march...

The CRS

The CRS marching at the front of the demonstration "encouraging" us to move from our traffic island.

Protest Photographs

I am not sure these need much elaboration...the first shows CGT members, locked, arm in arm, before their march. The second shows "demonstrators" having a drink at an unusual spot and the third shows the masses walking on the Boulevard de la Bastille.

Cortege for the CPE

The drama is nearing an end.

Ten days ago Chirac had addressed the nation stating that the CPE would be modified. Of course, in reality, that was only a precursor to the scrapping of the CPE. Last Tuesday, 4 April, once again students, workers, and others launched their fifth organized, large-scale public protest just to make sure their voices were heard. However, considering the circumstances the march was either one of triumph for the left or a cortege for the CPE.

This time armed with full information about the march’s route I left the BN at 2 p.m. after a half day of work and walked up the river to the Pont d’Austerlitz. Crossing over to the right bank I scouted out a locale from which to watch. I found myself on a traffic island on a main road on the Seine at a “T” intersection. At that intersection I had a clear view up the Boulevard de la Bastille to the Place de la Bastille, perhaps a half mile away. It was a good spot because within twenty minutes of moving there not long before the march’s arrival (they were leaving from the Place de la République) a couple of professional photographers and one television news team joined me.

The US media has tended to overplay the amount of violence in these demonstrations. Of course, I can see editors wanting people to read articles and headlines reading “Riots in Paris” might be more attention grabbing than “Workers and students parade in Paris.” There was violence, but this was at the end of the march and did not so much involve students and workers but instead those known as ‘casseurs’ (literally, the “breakers” but in this case anti-police youths who opportunistically took this occasion as one to throw stones, rocks, and whatever else they could find at the police). I had no desire to be anywhere near the Place d’Italie where the march would finish. This day was another day of strikes but their weight was even less than those of the previous week.

From my vantage point I could finally see the march approaching, first escorted by a retinue of France’s special police, the CRS. Certainly, one does not want to mess with members of the CRS and a group of some twenty in the vanguard in their full riot gear approached us on the island and motioned for us to move off our island (as an upcoming video will show) and I did not argue, though once they continued on we moved back). What followed was the literal parade of students, high school and university, for the next hour. Most were in organized groups with signs and banners showing their affiliation and if I had seen “floats” I easily could have thought of myself at a New Year’s Day parade as the atmosphere was festive, not threatening. Some groups were accompanied by vans with loudspeakers with someone inside with a megaphone leading a chant or a cheer. Anti-CPE (and anti Chirac, Villepin, and Sarkozy) stickers and flyers and propaganda broadsheets abounded. Some students had costumes on, one was wearing stilts, one was dressed as a clown: the variations were countless. One of the Parisian papers estimated the crowd at a quarter of a million and my own rough estimate based on time and distance though that reliable (the protesters claimed the much-too-high figure of one million the police gave the much-too-low estimate of ninety thousand).

As my island became too crowded I decided to walk against the flow of the crowd and to make my way to the Place de la République. That way I could in some way join the march but really it would give me the vantage of seeing the whole thing. The marchers took over the whole Place de la Bastille and a good number of students climbed the monument to get a better view. Prudence prevailed and I decided not to join them. Thousands literally crammed the square as marchers still poured in from Republique. After taking a few pictures I left for my last phase. By this point the students were done and what followed were the trade unions, organized by union affiliation and then by sub-profession. These, not surprisingly, had more a sense of organization and respect and I witness a good deal less of drinking and other various vices. All of the union groups had multiple flags, banners, and an organizing van with loudspeaker that led them in their particular retinue. Even the Bibliotheque nationale was “en greve” and I shot a photo of my photocopy pal Grizzly Adams.

I reached Place de la Republique by six p.m., over three hours after the march began. The last few union groups milled around to find their place in the march. The city of Paris street cleaners by this time were out on foot and in vans cleaning up the debris left behind. Two figures, clearly not students, had climbed the central statue and sat having a festive drink beneath the word of “liberté.” How appropriate. Some other youths surrounded a van with thumping loudspeakers and were participating in a spontaneous rave. As I left my dancing shoes home in a box I could not join in, as tempting as it was.

Today, with approval-rating for himself and his Prime Minister at a all-time low, Chirac has announced that the CPE would be scrapped. Students and unions had another day of protest planned for tomorrow but now those may be cancelled. How long de Villepin can now remain as an effective Prime Minister remains to be seen but if I had to guess I might posit that Sarkozy could become the new PM before the year’s end.

Obviously this has been an incredibly experience to witness first hand. The power of the people can be incredibly effective as we have seen in other instances in the last twenty years, be it in the Philippines with the overthrow of Marcos in 1986 or the Revolutions in Eastern Europe in 1989. Even if I did not much agree with the viewpoints of either the students or the workers I did enjoy seeing them out in force to express their views as it is a longstanding tradition in France.

To the Barricades!

The massive building in the background is the "new" Paris opera house. At the end of this clip Montevallo colleagues may notice a familiar marcher in sunglasses and green coat. Thanks to my sister Kristi for posting these videos...

I join the march

With my "hidden" camera I join last Tuesday's anti-CPE march and join in with the CGT (the French Communist Trade Union). Toward the end of the video on the left one can briefly see the column at the Place de la Bastille, the site of the former fortress and prison. Vive la revolution!

Paris Perturbations

Back to your regularly-scheduled blog…
The last ten days here have been interesting and busy. Part of the reason for the blog’s interruption is that two of my friends from Montevallo, Robert and Deborah, visited me here in Paris for the last six days. The other reason has to do with some pesky students.

France is facing its worst domestic crisis in more than a decade. It is a complicated story. The crux of the crisis is what is known as a parliamentary-passed law, the CPE—the contrat première embauche, the first hiring contract. This contract would allow French firms to hire and fire employees younger than 26 much more easily. As it stands now, French hiring practices are hamstrung by long-standing bureaucratic rules and regulations. Many companies, especially smaller ones, do without hiring new employees altogether because of the considerable headaches involved. Besides streamlining the hiring process the CPE would allow companies to fire younger employees for no reason whatsoever in the first two years of employment.

Why the CPE anyway? First, France has notoriously high youth unemployment rates that reach up to 40% (and among North African immigrants this percentage goes above 60%, a prime cause in the anger of the November riots here). Second, France has never, like its neighbor Germany, had a dose of Thatcherism in the last thirty years. While I am not a particular fan of Thatcher in many ways, she did allow over the long run the British economy to modernize and become one of the most dynamic in Europe. France and Germany, on the other hand are facing a domestic ticking social time bomb, not too different from the looming United States’ crisis in terms of Social Security in some ways. Generous state benefits over the last fifty years have created a class of employees (especially those hired by the state) who have extremely generous terms of employment. I was listening to a BBC broadcast that mentioned that most young French people desired above all else jobs in the state sector for their pay, benefits, stability, and even social esteem (a legacy of civic humanism that at least still resides in some nations).

The third reason for the CPE is the looming threat of China. I have noticed in my weeks here much more concern about China and its increasing economic impact than I have felt in the US. Europeans in general, and the French in particular, fear that China (and India) will swamp them at some point in the not-too-distant future. To many, France has to become more competitive to survive economically. One can see the CPE as a first step in the partial dismantling of a French economic structure that at least stretches to the Liberation in 1944. And, of course, that dismantling impinges upon a number of interest groups that do not wish to see that occur.

The French political system sees in power today a coalition of two conservative parties (get out your chart), the UMP and the UDF. Jacques Chirac (the UDF) is President and has considerable powers, especially in terms of foreign policy. His Prime Minister (former Minister of Defense that some may recall during the leadup to the war in Iraq) is Dominique de Villepin. Chirac’s second and last term as President ends next year and commentators see Villepin as his chosen successor. However, to control the French parliament, the UDF has to form a coalition with the other main conservative party, the UMP. The UMP’s leader is Nicolas Sarkozy who heads the powerful Ministry of the Interior. This is not like our Secretary of the Interior as the French version controls organizations such as the centralized French police forces. While we regard our Secretary of State as the most important cabinet member the French would see Sarkozy as their most important. Sarkozy, of course, has presidential aspirations himself (more on that later).

De Villepin and the conservative coalition passed the CPE a few months ago. However, the notoriously aristocratic de Villepin has a tin ear to the street and his coalition constructed the CPE with little-to-no consultation on those it would affect. And, of course, it would affect the young in France. France has an extremely well-educated population. Universities, while not really “free” anymore, are inexpensive and France has a high percentage of university-educated workers. However, many of these graduates cannot find jobs (or take jobs well below their qualifications) and as a result find themselves extremely unsatisfied with the “system.” Those in high schools and universities at the present see the CPE as a threat to their future and especially fear the ability of firms to fire them with no cause whatsoever after working at a job even for one year and 364 days. Obviously, self interest is the typical motivator (and youth are especially motivated by the short term) and many youth in France see the CPE as a threat to their wellbeing. Try to tell them that this will help make France more competitive with China and see what type of response one gets. Certainly, I can feel sympathy for them and their situation--no one wants a future that is less secure than that of their parents.

What we have witnessed as a result is a series of protests begun by high school and university students. This is another French cultural tradition that stretches back to the jacqueries of the Middle Ages, that of public protest when other channels and institutions seemed to have failed. I, as some of you know, have a particular interest here as I wrote my Master’s Thesis on the Student “Revolt” in France in 1968. That "revolt" began because of dormitory visiting privileges not being offered to the opposite sex and then morphed into a near-utopian movement where the students hoped to reshape a hierarchichal and inflexible French society. This revolt nearly brought down the Fifth Republic and resulted in some significant socio-cultural-economic changes. France has had a number of student protests in the years after 1968 but this particular movement has proved to be the largest and most durable since then.

Two weeks ago demonstrations began in Paris and a number of other cities with the hope of pressuring the government to withdraw the CPE. It had yet to finish the two final steps to be made law—to first be passed as constitutional by the “Conseil constitutional” (a ten-person body that vets all potential laws) and then to be signed by the President.

The protests two weeks ago saw the de Villepin Government stand firm. “The CPE will remain as passed by the Assembly” replied de Villepin. “We will not let the street dictate laws” would also be a loose translation of his reply. The size of the protest and its vehemence saw others take note. First, French trade unions, no fan of either Chirac and de Villepin stepped in: not so much for sympathy for the young but as a way for them to graft their political needs on top of those of the students (this is much what happened in 1968). Because of Villepin’s instransigeance, the unions called for a general strike to take place on 28 March (the day of my friends’ arrival into Paris).

But the unions were not the only opportunists: Nicolas Sarkozy stepped in and gave an interview to Paris-Match the week before the strike indicating that he though perhaps a compromise was needed and that the CPE could be modified. Of course, this was breaking ranks with the government party line and one could only imagine de Villepin’s reaction to his rival’s announcement. De Villepin could only reply that no compromise was forthcoming from the government but he did arrange a series of meetings with union leaders (that failed) and with student groups (the students refused to meet with him). The one-day strike was inevitable.

What surprised me after reading the news up to the day of the strike was how “un-general” it was. The gloom-and-doom press (of course to sell more copies of papers) was forecasting a shutdown of the nation and especially Paris. How, inconsiderate for the French, especially as I had guests arriving that day. However, on that Tuesday, for example, well over half the Métro trains still ran and the city seemed to run nearly as normal. As my friends and I indulged ourselves in tourism our ramblings took us to the Place de la Bastille at three p.m. This happened to be the same time that a demonstration march of tens of thousands reached the Place on a long march. Certainly, it was a most fortuitous coincidence as my friends and I saw the protest first hand. The demonstration though had the feel of a parade, at least at the point where we watched. Many of the marchers had signs, stickers, placards, or even special outfits on which gave the feeling not so much as a demonstration as a parade. And many of the marchers were not young people but those one would identify as middle class or those in their 50s and 60s. Of course, others were in the crowd as well and some did not quite look too savory and one could identify them as thugs and bullyboys. They too wished to graft their discontentment with the government onto the student movement and some wanted all-too-well just to through some rocks at the heavily clad French riot police (who were out in great number).

It was too much for me not to at least get in the crowd a number of times and “march” as well to either take pictures or videos (hopefully, those videos will follow at some point). Certainly, one could say it was self indulgent and a bit hypocritical (liberal that I am, I do think the spirit of the CPE is probably a good thing, though not the way it is currently constructed) but it may be the only time that I will march in a French protest and being the romantic historian I could not let that moment pass. After an hour of spectating we left and the next day I read that one to two million French marched nationwide against the CPE. The march turned a bit ugly as the day wore on and tempers flared and the French riot police had to move the unyielding crowd at the end with water cannon. Property damaged resulted in several areas and a few cars were overturned and burned. The government still replied “no” to any change to the CPE and the students and unions promised another strike and protest on the next Tuesday, the 4th of April.

A brief postscript follows: Friday night Chirac addressed the French nation for a few minutes on television. He announced that he had indeed had promulgated the law but had also suspended the CPE as he expected the government to modify it slightly. From my perspective, this seemed to be the worst thing for the government to do for now it showed the students and unions that pressure would indeed work. De Villepin seemed to have his feet cut out from underneath him by his boss, the President. The students and unions both called this announcement by Chirac as “incomprehensible” and that still the “students have not been heard.” Sarkozy, at least in the short run has emerged better as he had originally called for modifications and he saluted the “wisdom” of the President as I read in the daily “Le Parisien”: “I had called several weeks ago for a compromise. The President of the Republic has responded to this wish in asking that the disposition of the law not be applied while we wait for a new legislative draft.”

A new strike and demonstration is set for Tuesday. Updates will follow when possible.