Christine Ockrent writes:
Periodically, in France, people take to the
streets to protest against what they see as political interference with their
own personal beliefs.
Periodically, the government attempts to change the law
to match current social habits better – sometimes quite belatedly, compared
with the rest of Europe.
Seeing themselves as permanent revolutionaries, the
French sometimes forget their deep Catholic roots and the enduring conservatism
that results.
This week, François Hollande decided to withdraw
his own government's bill on various aspects of family legislation.
The day before, huge crowds had been demonstrating in Paris and in Lyon against what was denounced as the "familyphobia" of his policies.
The day before, huge crowds had been demonstrating in Paris and in Lyon against what was denounced as the "familyphobia" of his policies.
There was
no violence, no overt, rightwing extremism as had been the case a few weeks ago
on "the day of anger" tainted by anti-Semitic, homophobic
and racist brutalities.
This time around, nice, proper families with plenty of children walked peacefully, claiming their faith in "normal" structures, un papa who is a man, a woman for maman.
This time around, nice, proper families with plenty of children walked peacefully, claiming their faith in "normal" structures, un papa who is a man, a woman for maman.
They
loudly expressed their fears about imported gender theories creeping into the
French education system and the risk of distorting sexual orientations at
nursery school.
Generation after generation, the same layers of
French society protest against change.
They sometimes win: in 1984, François
Mitterrand, the first Socialist president, had to maintain subsidies to
Catholic schools.
They often lose: in 1974, Valéry Giscard d'Estaing, a
conservative, legalised abortion; in 1999, a Socialist government put in place
a "civil union", intended to protect homosexual couples – it has, in
fact, been primarily used by heterosexuals who resist marriage.
This time around, the protest runs deeper.
The gay marriage bill, which was passed last year, stirred up concerns way beyond the usual political battleground.
Polls show it is supported by 60% of the public, and thousands of such marriages have been celebrated peacefully.
The gay marriage bill, which was passed last year, stirred up concerns way beyond the usual political battleground.
Polls show it is supported by 60% of the public, and thousands of such marriages have been celebrated peacefully.
But
scars are still bleeding in a society destabilised by unemployment,
globalisation and multiculturalism.
Tradition also has supporters of a new kind: well-integrated French Muslims, fighting for values, they say, that are similar to Catholic ones when it comes to sex and family.
Tradition also has supporters of a new kind: well-integrated French Muslims, fighting for values, they say, that are similar to Catholic ones when it comes to sex and family.
More importantly, the current movement does not
fit any clear-cut political pattern.
On the left, some MPs denounce Hollande's
"surrender to the reactionaries" and worry about losing support from
vociferous constituencies in the forthcoming local elections.
But there is also
unease, if not hostility, to reforms in reproductive law at a time when it is
important that economic priorities must not be jeopardised.
On the right, the UMP party didn't see anything
coming. Destabilised by internal fighting, traditional conservatives are
divided over these issues and obsessed with the rise of the extreme right.
They have not been able to take political advantage of other – and new – forms of social unrest, like Les Bonnets Rouges in Brittany, where low-earning voters made their anger at the Paris elites felt.
The Front National is more in tune with the new anti-establishment sentiment. Yet Marine Le Pen, its leader, has been conspicuously silent about the latest protest movements.
She and her cronies were out of sight last Sunday: she is cautious about surfing the wave and risking being accused of homophobia.
They have not been able to take political advantage of other – and new – forms of social unrest, like Les Bonnets Rouges in Brittany, where low-earning voters made their anger at the Paris elites felt.
The Front National is more in tune with the new anti-establishment sentiment. Yet Marine Le Pen, its leader, has been conspicuously silent about the latest protest movements.
She and her cronies were out of sight last Sunday: she is cautious about surfing the wave and risking being accused of homophobia.
What is actually at stake in France is the rise
of a kind of Christian populism that traditional politics no longer channel.
Unlike the Tea Party in the US, it has not sprung from the bellies of the UMP.
It does not correspond to specific geographical or sociological reservoirs of
discontent.
True to the French tradition, it does not dismiss the state as the ultimate referee and protector.
True to the French tradition, it does not dismiss the state as the ultimate referee and protector.
Rather, it claims there is a space where
citizens become more legitimate than their elected representatives, where the
majority rule does not apply, where political democracy, in short, is failing.
It is a phenomenon to worry about far beyond the idiosyncrasies of French
politics.
La France éternelle, the land of Charles
Martel, is where his heirs are valiantly engaged in a demographic war.
Not only, although vitally, against the rise of a
semi-feral underclass which is in any case nothing on that in the “Anglo-Saxon”
countries that have ceased to will the means to a properly functioning
bourgeoisie and proletariat.
But also against the Islamic expansionism that
dismembered France as recently as 1962, when she was mutilated by the loss, not
of three colonies, but of three départements, integral parts of the
French State and nation.
That mutilation was resisted with arms by General
Raoul Salan, founder of the OAS, lifelong Socialist, and Grand Orient
Freemason, though not, as is sometimes suggested, Jew. How very, very right he
has turned out to have been.
That was the perspective from which, in and
through the person of a decorated veteran of the Algerian War, France opposed
the greatest catastrophe since 1962 for what was originally Christendom on
three continents, covering every inch of the Mediterranean’s shores.
For what remained of that, 1962 was the greatest
catastrophe since 1948 (itself the greatest since 1923), and 2003 seems set to
have been the greatest until, if there ever is one, a similar intervention in
Syria.
That will doubtless also be resisted by la
France éternelle, the conscious, literal rebirth of which will have
tremendous consequences in, for example, the United Nations Security Council,
where they can expect the support of Russia and will also deserve that of the
United Kingdom and of the United States.
Never forget that talk of what would originally
have been a Second Western Alliance, but against Islamic rather than Communist
expansion, has been a commonplace of French political discourse ever since the
1950s.
And never forget that Mitterrand gave a job to
Poujade, in whom the Legitimist and Bonapartist traditions met, who had
endorsed him and who did so again, just as Chirac and Giscard d’Estaing both
endorsed Hollande. Well, against Sarkozy, of course they did.
Part and parcel of all of this is resistance to
the redefinition of marriage as anything other than the union of one man and
one woman. And the defence of civil partnerships as not restricted to a
privileged caste of unrelated same-sex couples.
Including the removal of any such restriction
where it exists. As it does in Britain.
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