Contemporary France
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Contemporary France
Europe Today Series Editor: Ronald Tiersky The Politics of Economic and Monetary Union:Integration and Idiosyncracy By Erik Jones NATO and the Future of European Security By Sean Kay
Contemporary France:A Democratic Education By Anne Sa’adah Euro-skepticism:A Reader Edited by Ronald Tiersky Europe Today:National Politics, European Integration, and European Security Edited by Ronald Tiersky Uniting Europe: European Integration and the Post-Cold War World By John Van Oudenaren
Contemporary France A Democratic Education
Anne Sa’adah
ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD PUBLISHERS, I N C . Lanham Boulder New York Oxford
ROWMAN & LI'ITLEFIELD PUBLISHERS, INC. Published in the United States of America by Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www.rowmanlittlefield.com P.O. Box 317, Oxford OX2 9RU, United Kingdom Copyright 0 2003 by Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-PublicationData Sa'adah, Anne. Contemporary France : a democratic education / Anne Sa'adah. p. cm.-(Europe today) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN (174250197-3(cloth : ak.paper)-ISBN G7425-01981 (paper : allc.paper) 1. France-Politics and government. I. Title. 11. Series: Europe today (Rowman and Littlefield, Inc.). JN2451 .S22 2003 320.944-dc2 1
2002012257
Printed in the United States of America
@ Y-M The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences-Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO 239.481992.
This book is for three people:
Marie-Cede and Pierre Heurtin and
Stanley Hoffmann Their enduring friendship has made studying France a personally as well as an intellectually rewarding activity
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Contents
ix
Acknowledgments Introduction: A Democratic Education
1
PART I: THE HISTORICAL AND CULTURAL FOUNDATIONS OF CONTEMPORARY FRENCH POLITICS “LeMiracle de la France”:French Nationalism Nationalism and the Left: From the Revolution to the Commune Nationalism and the Right: From the Boulanger Affair to the Great War World War I
15
17 28
33
45
World War I1 and Its Legacies France, 1939-1945 “Vichy,a Past That Stayed” The Legacies
45 55 69
Decolonization and Its Sequels The Algerian War and Republican Institutions The Empire Strikes Back: The Algerian War and French Identity Epilogue
77 79 89 93
Putting Sovereignty First: The Gaullist Vision The Gaullist Conception of State Sovereignty
vii
99 100
viii
CONTENTS
Charting Policy The Gaullist Vision: An Assessment
102 106
PART II: THE INSTITUTIONS, PROCESSES, AND PRACTICES OF FRENCH POLITICS
5 Political Representation in the Fifth Republic: Back to the Marais? The Reconstruction of the Left, 1958- 1986 The Failed Recomposition of the Right, 1958-1981 Institutional and Partisan Confusion, 1984 to the Present Conclusion
6 State-Society Relations in France: An Introduction Politics and Markets: The Dirigiste State Selective Capitalism: Social Structure Capitalism and the Republican Compromise: Ideological Ambiguities Postwar Economic Growth and Social Change Conclusion
111 113 125 142 154
161 162 170 173 177 190
PART 111: CONTEMPORARY DILEMMAS 7 Reinventing France: Social Change, Identity, and Citizenship Winners and Losers in the New France The New Politics of Identity Conclusion
199 20 1 215 245
8 Getting Past Sovereignty:An Impossible Task? Rethinking the Means of French Foreign Policy: Sovereignty, Supranationality,and Multilateralism Testing the Possibilities of French Power: The Yugoslav Disaster Testing the Possibilities of SupranationalAction: Social Protection Conclusion
26 1
Appendix A A Chronology of French Regimes
313
Appendix B The Fifth Republic: The Presidents and Their Prime Ministers
315
Appendix C Electoral Laws: An Introduction
316
Appendix D Who’s Who in French Politics
323
Index
329
About the Author
340
264 272 293 299
Acknowledgments
Some books are prompted by a specific event and reflect a concentrated period of research; other books are the product of a long-term engagement with a topic. This book is of the latter sort. It would therefore be quite impossible for me to list the intellectual debts I incurred while preparing to write it. One way around this problem is to cite an institution. For three decades, my thinking about France has benefited from the intellectual riches and camaraderie of what is now the beautifully appointed Minda de Gunzburg Center for European Studies at Harvard University. When I first knew it, “WestEuropean Studies”was a converted house on a quiet side street; the windows were the kind that opened (there were no screens) and in the absence of an intercom system, names were often shouted up the staircase. Through its various metamorphoses, the Center has sponsored lectures, seminars, and conferences; it fosters intellectual exchange across disciplinary borders; it constantly brings European and American scholars together and tempers academic discussions with contributions by public figures. To name participants in its programs would be to call the roster of people who study contemporary European politics, and rather than risk the omission of someone still living, I shall name only the dead, whose voices and insights I missed as I thought about the issues discussed in this book: Henry Ehrmann,Nicholas Wahl, Laurence Wylie, and especially Georges Lavau. Even after his formal retirement, Stanley Hoffmann remained the intellectual force of the Center, but my debt is more direct. Stanley was my advisor through college and graduate school. He shared his books (only Pleiade editions were off limits), his puzzles, and his friends. His yearlong course on France, which I took as a freshman and “sectioned”as a graduate student (leadix
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ing a discussion section of undergraduates), remains for me a model of the kind of teaching that makes the university a key social institution in a democratic society;his constant efforts to inform public debate-during the Vietnam War, or with regard to Alliance politics, or after September 11,2001-are likewise a model of responsible engagement by an intellectual in public life. This book is dedicated to him. This book is also dedicated to Marie-Cecileand Pierre Heurtin. That I singled Stanley’scourse out from the endless offeringsof the Harvard course catalogue was in large part their doing. Pierre was my modern French history teacher in the Breton town of Rennes, where I spent the 1971-1972 academic year as a student in a newly coed program run by Phillips Andover and Exeter Academies (the schools themselves were still single-sex), School Year Abroad. In keeping with French understandings of where the “modern”period begins, Pierre’s course began with Franqois Ier. Somehow, before the year ended, we also managed to discuss the Algerian War. Unable to articulate an argument about the war to my own satisfaction in what was still a foreign language, I wrote an essay; Pierre responded by inviting me home to dinner. When I arrived, he was tied up at a political meeting; Marie-Cecile,whose day job was teaching French literature at the university, was attending simultaneouslyto a mouth-watering white sauce on the stove and a constantly ringing telephone in a different room. For a few moments, I stood somewhat awkwardly in the long, tallceilinged corridor of their seventeenthcentury apartment and gazed at the books lining the walls. Then two young boys appeared. I would have wrecked the white sauce, but I did know how to read to little boys, even ones who giggled at the way I pronounced my r’s. Pierre eventuallymaterializedand the white sauce was incomparable;best of all, the dinner was but the first of countless meals at which I would be made to feel like family, and no matter where we were or whatever else we were doing, history and politics always figured in our conversations. Over the years, the Heurtins took me everywhere in Anjou, Normandy, and Brittany; Marie-Cecilerecited poetry while driving at hair-raisingspeeds.The marriage of one of the Heurtin boys occasionedmy husband’s first adult trip to France; shortly after I finished this manuscript in the summer of 2002, their sister, a strong-willedtwoyear-old at our first encounter, delighted us with a visit. I cannot imagine what life would have been like without their friendship, except to say that it would have been infinitely poorer. While writing this book, I was also working on a broader project on changing conceptionsof empowerment in contemporarydemocratic settings.The latter undertaking was funded, and since it contributed to my thinking on this project (most obviously perhaps in the discussion of group politics in chapter 7), I would like to acknowledge support from the National Endowment for the Humanities (Fellowship for College Teachers and Independent Scholars Pro gram,Grant Number FE36269-00). The NEH Fellowship, supplemented by
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
xi
salary support from Dartmouth College, allowed me to take a yearlong research leave in 2000-2001. During this time, I also received limited research support from the Rockefeller Center for the Social Sciences at Dartmouth College. To the broader public, the time that academics get “off”is often hard to understand, but these periods of uninterrupted research and writing-summers, sab baticals, grant periods-are when we refuel and retool ourselves intellectually. The best reason for pegging professional promotion to research performance is that in the absence of a lively research agenda, excellence in the classroom cannot be sustained. I would like to thank Ronald Tiersky for inviting me to write this book he gave me the opportunity to do what for years I had secretly wanted to do. Ron, Stanley Hoffmann,and especially Jonah Levy all provided helpful comments on all or parts of this manuscript. Susan McEachern was everything an editor should be; I am deeply grateful to her for her tact and warmth and for her substantive and stylistic suggestions. My husband, William L. Baldwin, read and commented on the manuscript; anyone who has ever lived with someone writing a book will understand that this was the least of his contributions to this book’s completion. For any errors of fact or judgment that may remain in the pages that follow, I am of course alone responsible. It is a common misconception that computers have made the physical process of producing books effortless;Jehanne Schweitzerknows better, and I thank her for dealing with the many nettlesome problems that arose. Finally, Kathleen Donald and Darsie Riccio in the offices of the Department of Government at Dartmouth College, Barbara Mellert at Social Science Computing, and Patricia Carter at the Interlibrary Loan Office of Baker/BenyLibrary always acted as if they found my needs as urgent as I did.
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Introduction: A Democratic Education
The French tend to think of Americans as illiterate with regard to history and superficial in their understanding of politics. French history and politics encourage different attitudes (and produce different shortcomings). French history cannot be neatly packaged: there are too many regimes, too many political parties, too many instancesof things not being quite what they seem. In a stairwell packed with students changing classes, I once vented my own frustration. Thinking back over the lecture I had just given, I muttered “SomedayI will figure out how to simplrfy French politics.” “No, you won’t,’’ a student’svoice countered, “it’smuch too complicated.”Defying the French stereotype of Americans, he did not follow up with: “And may I drop your course?”Why, I wondered, was he interested?Why should any twenty-yearold care about French politics these days-unless she happens to be French? And even if a person calls Toulouse home, does it really matter what kind of school system the Third Republic established, or who was shot during the Liberation in 1944-1945 and who was not? French politics is complicated because in France, for over two centuries, potential political settlements-broad agreements about the identity of legitimate political actors, the shape of public institutions, and the parameters of public policy-have been subject to internal contestation and external dis ruption. Coups, revolutions, and wars punctuate modern French history. The rules of the political game have been discarded so often that a well-knownjoke describes constitutional documents as periodical literature. Across the Channel, the British for the most part avoided revolution and emerged victorious from war. The British achieved closure on most of their disputes. The French did not, and so for them the past, dense with colliding ideas, individuals, and 1
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groups, remains present. It shapes how people understand themselves, articulate their aspirations, and assess the possibilities of political life. It provides the key to the codes in which current conflicts are framed and fought. But why should anyone outside the Hexagon (as France is sometimes called) care about these conflicts?After all, France is now only a medium-sizedpower; events on its streets or in its corridors of power no longer change the lives of people on other continents. If an American student feels compelled to study some European country (perhaps because of an interest in the European Union or out of curiosity about the origins of American political institutions), why should he not cut costs and study British politics?At least in the United Kingdom, the codes are written in English (though they are still codes: “we really have everythmg in common with America nowadays,”the AngleIrish writer Oscar Wilde quipped in 1887, “except,of course, language”).lIf conflict and instability are the draw, why waste time on a country and a continent whose most dramatic conflicts lie in the past? Signs urge subway passengers in Paris to surrender their seats to wounded veterans, but the instructions are a throwback to World War I, now nearly a century distant. Even World War I1 is increasingly remote: only old men and women remember the springwhen the German Sitzkrieg turned into a Blitzkrieg, or the terrible years that followed. Closer to us in time, paratroopers were prepared to jump on Paris as part of a failed military insurrection in 1961; seven years later, student and worker strikes shut France down for nearly a month, and the president of the Republic boarded his helicopter and briefly vanished. But these events, too, belong to another generation. Why not focus on where the action is today: on the unending strife in the Middle East, for example, or on the civil wars ravaging Africa, or on the tense confrontation between India and Pakistan?With such tragedies to command our attention, why should we bother with the everyday problems of a medium-sized,advanced industrial democracy? Mountains are climbed because they challenge the ability of human beings to get to the top. Subjects worth studying raise questions that challenge our ability to get, so to speak, to the bottom. Comparative politics suggests puzzles that focus on political legitimacy (presumptions regarding the proper organization and use of public power) or political economy (the relationship between politics and markets) or both. Other fields have other puzzles. A consciously formulated puzzle is far more likely to produce a coherent academic program than are the formal requirements of any degree program. Puzzles also steer social conversations away from the trivial. Suggest to your dinner partner that you are interested in how different communities define and manage diversity,and you will not have to discuss the weather (although you may later wish you had). Puzzles establish intellectual contact among people ostensibly drawn to quite different topics: the management of diversity, for example, is the common concern of people interested in the civil rights movement in the United States, the history of the Reformation, colonialism,
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the evolution of the European Union, the development and demise of apartheid in South Africa, or the “fanghhou”approach to dissent adopted by China’s post-Mao leadership. Puzzle-oriented people tend to be trespassers: they cross boundaries between political science, economics, history, anthropology, religion, sociology, psychology, and literature. Academic disciplines are useful because they offer us precisely what their name implies: discipline, standards, rules of evidence, and argument. Without them, we are too likely to assert, as the French say, “n’importequoi” (anything and its opposite). Most puzzles worth puzzling about, however, span a variety of disciplines. Puzzling is the characteristic activity of an educated mind, and this book addresses readers who are open to puzzles either about politics or about French society and culture. It simply is not possible, I hope to show, to be interested in politics-how a community is defined and how power gets created, distrib uted, argued about, and used within it-and indifferent to the French experience, nor is it satisfyingto be captivated by Flaubert or Camus or worried about the future of French cinema and remain ignorant of French politics. In times of change and uncertainty, puzzling should be cultivated as an activity of choice. We do not know much about what our collective or personal life will be like thirty or fifty years from now. How will people go to work? How will we get around? What will political borders mean? What options will be available to us as we start families, look after our health, and experience old age and death? What forms will religious life take? What dangers will seem most urgent to us, and how will we seek to protect ourselves? Looking back, will a subsequent generation see our age as one of decline or one of renewal-of democracy, of the nation-state,of capitalism?In difficult times, puzzling is a prudent strategy. Regardless of the times, it is an important activity: it makes us better and more interesting company for ourselves and for others. Education is not a politically neutral process. The degree to which we experience change as threatening or exciting depends in part on how much leverage we feel we have over the process of change. The Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin once famously dismissed the power of the Catholic Church by asking how many regiments the Pope had. But power comes in many forms, and in a world characterized by uncertainty and change, knowledge, understanding, and self-understandingare among the most important sources of power. Puzzling, which invites both the transfer of a body of knowledge and the cultivation of creative, critical, and expressive skills and habits of mind, is more than a program of intellectual enrichment. It is a process of empowermentremote though that notion may seem to a harried student strugglmg to finish an assignment. Education amplifies the voices and multiplies the options of those who embrace its demands,especially if they are fortunate enough to live in a community where persuasion is more relevant to the process of power distribution than are force and fraud.
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From the perspective of a puzzler, the complexity of French politics offers a treasure trove of material. In their seemingly endless search for a political settlement, the French have posed and reposed fundamental questions about state sovereignty, legitimate authority, and the management of cultural diversity. They have, for example, endured foreign occupations, more than once anchored an empire and then lost it, and, their greatness fading, sought to define an independent path between the two superpowersthat faced off during the Cold War. They made “liberty,equality, fraternity”the slogan of their most memorable revolution and of democrats everywhere-but they themselves promptly (if briefly) succumbed to a terrorist regime and repeatedly reverted to dictatorship. They invented the nation-state and maintained a powerful, centralized state throughout their many regime changes; now they are simultaneously embarked on a grand experiment in supranational coop eration and tentatively building decentralized institutions. They brandished their culture as a missionary tool abroad and used it as a melting pot at home, but they must now accommodate large and increasingly assertive minority communities. As we all navigate our way through the uncertainties of globalization and interdependence,we have much to learn from the varied experiences and experiments of the French. French politics is as rich at the conceptual level as it is at the experiential level. The changes taking place around us-in science and technology, in interpersonal relations, in religious practice, in politics-challenge established ways of thinking about both power and the individual. Liberalism put the individual at the center of the moral universe and viewed individuals as morally and materially creative beings. It sought to empower the individual by limiting the power of the state. But the liberal project (of limiting state power) quickly became wedded to the democratic project (of expanding participation in public deliberation and decision making). Empowering the individual meant more than leaving him alone to make his own way in the newly privatized arena of religious and economic choice; it also meant giving him (and eventuallyher) a voice and a vote in the public arena. Isaiah Berlin called the first kind of empowerment negative freedom and the second kind positive freedom.*The combination of the two in democratic polities generated an ambivalent view of power. To people who were materially interested in or ideologically committed to expanding the scope of private decision making, public power was suspect and political organizations (parties, for example) were at best a necessary inconvenience, useful for purposes of political selfdefense. To people who looked to public power to redress the inequities produced by private decision making or to enforce certain kinds of behavior, or both, public power was a clear and necessary instrument of justice, and parties were important because they defined demands and organized support for ambitious public projects. Liberaldemocraticpolitical settlements-for example, the postwar welfare state-represented an always shifting combination of these two positions. For
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much of the postwar period, we associated the distrust of public power with political conservatism and the mobilization of public power in the service of justice with the political left.3This made sense as long as domestic politics was in large part about changing the extent and impact of economic inequalities, that is, about the relationship between politics and markets. It made less sense as politics became centered on issues of recognition and as the marginalized and persecuted (women, gays, racial and religious minorities, survivors of his torical injustices) partially supplanted the economically disadvantaged as the most vocal claimants on the public conscience. The marginalized typically voted with the political left, but they did not always share the old left’s confident view of power as an instrument of justice. They tended to define themselves as victims-as objectsof other people’s actions rather than as producers of their own lives-and were correspondingly suspicious of and pessimistic about power. Increasingly, they spoke in terms of legal rights, rather than in terms of competing political projects. Rights are intended to decrease the individual’s exposure to the vagaries of political struggle. Collective projects, in contrast, increase the exposure of participants to the uncertainties of conflict and power. It is perhaps no accident that a French philosopher, Michel Foucault (1926-1984),played a central role in shaping the contemporary reconsideration of power and the individual.4 But long before and well after Foucault, French politics reflected and encouraged a fundamental ambivalence about power and about the relationship between the individual and power. The French follow leaders but are reluctant to join parties; they engage in revolutionary activity and street protests, but resist orderly change. For over two hundred years, the French have tried to secure stable, legitimate mechanisms of political representation, and success has eluded them. A student seeking to learn about British politics would be told almost immediately that for most of its modern history, British political life has been organized by the competition between two political parties (despite the presence of other parties), and that in the postwar period, the Labour and the Conservativeparties dominated the political scene. This is a crucial piece of information about British politics. N o similar statement can be made about French politics-and many puzzles have their roots in this fact. Parties of all political stripes came and went. Absent strong and enduring parties, two leaders left their footprints all over several decades of French politics. Charles de Gaulle (1890-1970) scorned parties and never joined one;, the parties that supported him in power or claimed to continue his work after he left have changed their names too many times to make any name worth remembering, and de Gaulle’sinfluence and support transcended the traditional boundaries of left and right. By profes sion a career army officer, de Gaulle led the Free French during World War 11, presided over the country’sdestiny during the transitional period after the Liberation (1944-1946), and returned to power in 1958, creating the Fifth
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Republic.The second leader, FranqoisMitterrand (1916- 1996),began his political life on the right, and no one is quite sure where, upon his death in 1996, he ended it. In between, he spearheaded the reconstruction of the Socialist Party and attained power through the left’s landmark electoral victories of 1981. But the Socialist Party imploded during Mitterrand’sfinal years as president of the Republic,in part because of how he chose to pursue and use power. France is, as de Gaulle put it, an old country, “worndown by history, bruised by wars and revolutions, going back and forth endlessly from grandeur to decline, but restored from century to century by the genius of renewal.”6It is like the complicated but distinguished older person among one’s parents’ acquaintances,someone in whom one senses a depth of experience and a selfawareness absent in other people, someone against whom one might wish to examine one’sown ambitions and assess one’sacts, someone about whose life it might rightly be said, “Nevera dull moment!” As a country, France has been places and done things, both good and bad; its story is inherently interesting. If you do not yet have a puzzle, you may well find one. France shaped my puzzles, and while I have written this book to accommodate a range of puzzles, my interests are all over it. I did not choose to study France. French was a required subject in the New England schools I attended from sixth grade on, and the more French I learned in school, the more Arabic I heard at home, as the latter language replaced the former as the medium of privileged communication between my parents. Then, in my midteens, I announced that I wished to spend a year in Lebanon, the country from which my parents had emigrated in the 1940s. It was 1970; Lebanon’s precarious political settlement was about to come unstuck. I had grown up on history and politics, and there was plenty of action at home to fuel my interests. American involvement in Vietnam was the focus of lively controversy, and urban areas (and the national psyche) bore the scars of the race riots of preceding years. Still, I thought there was more action in Lebanon. My parents agreed, and said no (in English, presumably since at the time I did not seem to be understanding what they were saying in any language). They proposed France as an alternative destination. I went. My puzzles, it now seems to me, went along too, even though I did not yet consciously realize that they were my puzzles, much less that they would be my lifelong companions. They focused on questions of legitimacy and the dynamics of political change, and roughly stated, they included the following: How and why do some political communities (e.g., the United Kingdom) devise durable political settlements, while others (e.g., Lebanon, France) do not?When and why do durable democratic settlements, based on representative institutions, limited government, and individual rights, emerge? Under what circumstances will a politics of progressive reform succeed, sidestepping both paralysis and extremist alternatives?Within a given political community, when and why do established patterns of collective action change?
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These are the puzzles that most directly inform this book. The book is divided into three parts. The first part seeks to introduce the reader to key elements of French political culture, in part through a direct analysis of important beliefs and in part through an exploration of formative historical events. The second part of the book analyzes the key institutions and practices of contemporary French politics. The final part presents the dilemmas generated by the interaction between globalization and French political culture, institutions, and practices; for the foreseeable future, these dilemmas will be the stuff of French politics. In thematic as well as spatial terms, the chapters of part 11-on political r e p resentation (chapter 5 ) and state-society relations (chapter 6)-are central. Representative politics has never worked very well in France. Whereas in England and America, representation was the key revolutionary demand of early liberals (“no taxation without representation!”),in France, the doctrine of p o p ular sovereignty was the revolutionaries’answer to the absolutist claims of the monarchy, and it became the pivotal concept of republican politics. Popular sovereignty implied a unified people; in contrast, the AngleAmerican emphasis on representation encouragedan acceptance of ongoing differences of opinion and interest and so provided a better opening for the development of political parties. In France, the persistent weakness of mechanisms of political representation contributed to chronic institutional instability and constant protest; it also shaped specific patterns of policy, for example, how the state intervened in the economy. Embedded in broader patterns of state-society relations, the unpersuasive character of representative processes both reflected and reproduced modes of collective action that did not promote adaptive, incremental change. The Fifth Republic (1958 on) tried to rescript representative politics, in large measure by implementing significant institutional changes. Chapters 5 and 6 present an analysis of that effort, its context, and its consequences. They also establish a baseline against which the developments of the last quartercentury can be evaluated. Democratic politics is everywhere in a period of transition: in part because of globalization,the actors, institutions,and policy parameters characteristicof democratic politics are changing. We are witnessing both a crisis of representation and a crisis of the (nation-)state.These challenges transcend borders, but each country also faces unique dilemmas and opportunities.In the 1990s, the French amended their constitution and passed new laws in an effort to legislate equal representation (“parity”)for men and women in elected bodies; gender inequalities are not specific to France, but no other country addressed them by legislating parity. The French also engaged in passionate and prolonged debates about European integration and about French policy in the wars that shattered the former Yugoslavia. These (and other) debates (considered in chapters 7 and 8) have a his-
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tory-not just a set of preparatory events, but a cultural foundation. Part I (chapters 1 through 4) unearths that cultural foundation. In essence, it offers an account of how the French define themselves politically. How has two meanings here: a substantive one (what elements seem central to French political identity?)and a procedural one (through what sorts of processes has French political identity been shaped, challenged, and perhaps changed?). Conflicts both define and reveal identities, and so a country’s relations with the world beyond its borders often have a constitutive effect on domestic political identities. In fact, intra-French conflicts-under the German Occupation (1940-1944), for example, or during the Algerian War (1954-1962), or over European integration-have often involved different readings of France’s relations with the outside world. That influence was frequently reciprocal: for most of its modern history, France was an imperial power and major player in the international system. The first pages of its newspaper of record, Le Monde, are still devoted to international developments and foreign policy. We therefore begin (chapter 1)with an examination of French nationalism, which is not and never has been the exclusive property of the extreme right. Why is nationalism such an important force in French politics?What forms does it take?How does it shape the options open to institution builders and policy makers? Different interpretations of nationalism and different assessments of its importance as a political project played themselves out in three great dramas: the French defeat of 1940 and its aftermath (chapter 2), the bloody wars of decolonization that were fought in Indochina and Algeria (chapter 3), and the Gaullist effort to elaborate a foreign policy independent of the two superpowers during the Cold War (chapter 4). These episodes are intrinsically interesting: why did French defenses collapse so swiftly in 1940?Why were so many people willing to support the antirepublicanregime led by Marshal Petain?Why did postwar France, unlike Britain, become embroiled in violent, costly, and ultimately unsuccessful efforts to retain its imperial holdings?Why did de Gaulle believe that French political unity depended on the country’s ability to project its power independently in the international arena? But the increasinglydistant sets of events analyzed in these chapters are also of immediate contemporary relevance, and it is primarily to uncover that connection that we shall consider them. Why is it that a half-century after World War 11, wartime commitments remained front page news, or that forty years after Algeria won independence,the use of torture by the French Army during the Algerian War provoked a national debate?Does sovereignty matter in the ways that de Gaulle argued it did (chapter 4)-and if so, what kind of Europe should France promote and what attitude should it maintain toward American power (chapter S)? Should we see in the difficultiesFrance has had accommo dating a population of North African origin the undigested resentments of a
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defeated imperial power (chapter 3) or a clash of cultures in a country ill prepared to value cultural diversity?Is citizenship the answer (chapter 7)? The final two chapters of the book (part 110 analyze how postwar patterns of change, redirected after the 1970s by the economic crisis and globalization, fueled ongoing controversies about citizenship (chapter 7) and sovereignty (chapter 8). Globalization here refers to “theprocesses through which sovereign national states are crisscrossed and undermined by transnational actors with varying prospects of power, orientations, identities and networks.”’ These processes have produced new patterns of social stratification and have promoted new forms of group politics; on both counts, they have forced a fundamental rethinking of republican principles. At the same time, debates about borders and power-raised in particular by developments within the European Union and by the disintegration of Yugoslavia-have suggested new ways of organizing political life and of being “French.” Clearly, this is a book about France. But it is also a study of democracy and political change during a period of transition, and it is my hope that it will engage a broader audience whose primary puzzles center on freedom, not France. If at the end of the book, the reader is more committed to a puzzle, more conscious of the interlocking character of the dilemmas we face as democratic citizens, and more comfortable with the analytical frameworks and empirical information that the academy can make available, the book will have served its purpose. In this kind of exercise, the real final exam does not happen at the end of the semester or in a classroom, but in all the everyday settings in which we try to adapt democratic institutions and practices to meet the challenges of a changing world. In those settings as in others, we are all simultaneously learners and teachers.
RECOMMENDED READING Note: A list of recommended readings appears at the end of each chapter of this book. The lists are of course meant to be indicative, not exhaustive. They are also intended to be used cumulatively,so a book listed once will not appear on a subsequent list, no matter how many times its subject matter intersects with the text. Readers who wish to set French history and politics within a broader context may wish to consult Eric Hobsbawm’sfour-volumeset: The Age of Revolution, 1789-1848. New York: Vintage Books, 1962,1996. The Age of Capital, 1848-1875. New York: Vintage Books, 1975, 1996. The Age of Empire, 1875-1914. New York: Vintage Books, 1987, 1989. m e Age of Extremes, 1914-1991. New York: Vintage Books, 1994,1996.
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Excellent general accounts of modern French history include: Furet, Franqois. Revolutionary France, 1770-1880. Trans. Antonia Nevill. Oxford: Blackwell, 1995. Zeldin, Theodore. France 1848-1945, vol. 1, Ambition, Love and Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973. Agulhon, Maurice. The French Republic, 1879-1992. Trans. Antonia Nevill. Oxford: Blackwell, 1333. Cobban, Alfred. A History of Modern France. 3 vols. London: Penguin, 1974.
Key interpretive works, all discussed in chapter 5 , include: Tocqueville, Alexis de. The Old Regime and the French Revolution. Trans. Stuart Gilbert. Garden City, NY:Doubleday Anchor Books, 1955. Crozier, Michel. The Bureaucratic Phenomenon. Trans. Michel Crozier. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964. Hoffmann, Stanley. Decline or Renewal? France since the 1930s. New York: Viking, 1974. Hoffmann, Stanley, et al. In Search of France: The Economy, Socieg, and Political System in the Twentieth Century. Cambridge, M A : Harvard University Press, 1963.
Students interested in particular periods will fmd the volumes published by Le Seuil in its Nouvelle Histoire de la France contemporaine series especially useful. Most are available in Engltsh translation, as indicated below: Vovelle, Michel. The Fall of the French Monarcby, 1787-1 792. Trans. Susan Burke. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Bouloiseau, Marc. La Rdpubliquejacobine, 10 aoi2t 1792-9 themzidor an II. Paris: Le Seuil, 1972. Woronoff, Denis. The ThermidoreanRegime and the Directoly, 1794-1 799. Trans. Julian Jackson. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Bergeron, Louis. France under Napoleon.Trans. R. R. Palmer. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1981. Dufraisse, Roger, and Michel Derautret. La France napoldonienne,aspects ext&eurs, 1799-1815. Rev. ed. Paris: Le Seuil, 1999. Jardin, Andre, and Andre-Jean Tudesq. Restoration and Reaction, 1815-1848. Trans. Elborg Forster. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. Agulhon, Maurice. The Republican Experiment, 1848-1852. Trans.Janet Lloyd. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. Plessis, Main. The Rise and Fall of the Second Empire, 1852-1871. Trans. Jonathan Mandelbaum. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1985. Mayeur, Jean-Marie, and Madeleine ReErioux. The Third Republicfrom Its Origins to the Great War, 1871-1914. Trans. J.R. Foster. Cambridge:Cambridge University Press, 1984.
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Becker, Jean-Jacques,and Serge Berstein. Victoire et frustrations, 1914-1929.Paris: Le Seuil, 1990. Borne, Dominique, and Henri Dubief. La crise des annkes 30,1929-1938.Paris: Le Seuil, 1989. Azema,Jean-Pierre.From Munich to the Liberation, 1938-1944.Trans.Janet Lloyd. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Rioux, Jean-Pierre. The Fourth Republic, 1944-1958.Trans. Godfrey Rogers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. Berstein, Serge, and Jean-Pierre Rioux. The Pompidou Years, 138-1974.Trans. Christopher Woodall. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Becker, Jean-Jacques, with Pascal Ory. Crises et alternances, 1974-1995.Paris: Le Seuil, 1998.
For fine introductions to contemporary French politics, see: Chagnollaud, Dominique,and Jean-LouisQuermonne.La Ve Rkpublique. 4 vols. Rev. ed. Paris: Flammarion, Fayard, 2000. Goguel, Frangois, and Alfred Grosser. Lapolitique en France. Rev. ed. Paris: Armand Colin, 1985.
Or, in English Ehrmann, Henry, and Martin Schain. Politics in France. 5th ed. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. Safran, William. The French Polity. 6th ed. New York Longman, 2002. Tiersky, Ronald. France in the New Europe: Changing Yet Steadfast. Belmont, CA: Wadsworth, 1994.
Useful websites include: www.gksoft.co~go~/e/govt/en/fr.html. This is the website of “Governmentson the Web: France.” It provides links to national and local governmental and political institutions, and to other sources that provide political information.Some institutions offer information in Enghsh. www.cevip0f.ms.h-paris.fr. This is the website of the Centre d t u d e s de la vie politique franGaaise, a research unit at the Institut d&t&s politiques in Paris. CEVIPOF posts research papers (some in English), useful political information, and links with other relevant sites. www.lemonde.fr.This is the website of France’s newspaper of record, Le Monde. The same form can be used to connect to other periodicals with websites: thus the website for Le Figaro is www.lefigaro.fr, for Le Nouvel Obsmateur, it is www.nouvelobs.fr;and so on. www.cfdt.fr.This is the website for the Conf&i&ation franpzaise dhocratfquedu travail, or CFDT, an important trade union. The same form can be used to connect to other important organizations: thus the website for the Mouvement des entreprises de France, or MEDEF, the main employers’association, is www.medef.fr.
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NOTES 1. Oscar Wilde, “TheCanterville Ghost:A Hylo-Idealistic Romance,”in Wilde, The Complete Works of Oscar Wilde (London: Collins, 1948), p. 194. Wilde’s point has been repeatedly reformulated and is often attributed or misattributed to others, including notably George Bernard Shaw and Winston Churchill. 2. See Isaiah Berlin, “Two Concepts of Liberty,” in Four Essays on Liberty (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), especially pp. 122-134. 3. In European parlance, conservatives are often called liberals, because they stood by the old liberal distrust of state power and were critical of the welfare state. This is confusing to American observers, since in the United States, li6eral is a term used to describe people on the left. In postwar Europe, broadly speaking, the right has been “liberal”and the left has been “socialist”or “socialdemocratic.” 4. See Michel Foucault, Histoire de la folie a rage classique (Paris: Gallimard, 1972), Les mots et les choses: une archt?ologie des sciences humaines (Paris: Gallimard, 1966), L’arcMologie du savoir (Paris: Gallimard, 1%9), Suweiller et punir (Paris: GalLimard, 1975),Histoire de la sexualitt?,3 vols. (Paris: Gallimard, 1976-1984). See also Gilles Deleuze, Foucault (Paris: Editions de Minuit, 1986) and Didier Eribon, Michel Foucault, 1926-1984,2nd ed. (Paris: Flammarion, 1991).All of these books are available in English translation. 5. In 1947, de Gaulle did create a political movement, the Rassemblement du peuple fraqais. As its name suggests, it was intended as an antiparty: whereas parties divide, it would bring together; whereas parties appeal to specific groups, its constituency was le peuple. We will have ample opportunity to consider de Gaulle’s politics in later chapters. Plon, 6. Charles de Gaulle, Mkmoires deguerve, vol. 3, Le salut, 1944-1946(€%is: 1959),p. 290. All translations are mine unless otherwise indicated. Footnotes will therefore cite the French edition of a work; where appropriate, references to English translations will be provided in the “RecommendedReading” sections. 7. Ulrich Beck, What Is Glo6alization?trans. Patrick Camiller (Cambridge, U.K.: Polity Press, ZOOO), p. 11.
PART ONE THE HISTORICAL AND CULTURAL FOUNDATIONS OF CONTEMPORARY FRENCH POLITICS
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“LeMiracle de la France”: French Nationalism What is “kmiracle & la France’?’ Charles de Gaulle thought it was national unity, but who are “the French”? French nationalism should provide a response. From the French Revolution of 1789 to the globalization debates of the early-twenty-firstcentury, nationalism has played a key role in French politics. The clues it provides about the political identity of the French are indeed important but complicated. Nationalism has never spoken with a single voice or been definitively appropriated by a single political camp. Its shifting atiliations are tangled up in France’s messy history, and if the primary purpose of this chapter is to introduce nationalism’s various positions and moods, an important secondary purpose is to map out, however summarily,the historical contexts in which nationalism developed: the prerevolutionary Old Regime, the Revolution, the constitutional monarchies, empires, and republics of the nineteenth and early-twentiethcenturies. Nationalism itself is an ambiguous term. Most students today would class@ nationalism as an ideology of the political right. Many would probably associate it with “ethnic cleansing,” racism, or military expansionism. In the post-1945 struggles against imperialism, however, nationalist movements often advocated socialism as well as independence from colonial powers, and so were classified on the left. This was true of the Vietminh, against whom the French fought unsuccessfullyto preserve their empire in Indochina (1946-1954). It was also true of the Algerian Front de Zibgration nationale (National Liberation Front, FLN), France’s opponent in the long and bitter war that hastened the demise of the Fourth Republic in metropolitan France and brought about Algerian independence(the war lasted from 1954to 1962; the Fourth Republic ended in 1958). In the 1990s, the political affiliation of nationalism again seemed confused, as politicians at both ends of the political spectrum mobilized nationalist arguments to contest the continuing advance of European integration. 15
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Nationalism is sometimes interpreted to involve the promotion of “national” interests and power at the expense of all other political and moral claims, including, for example,the claims of individualrights (to life, to due process and equal rights, to property). This suggests a natural affinity among nationalism, authoritarianpolitics, and military expansionism.But nationalism may mean more than simplythe chauvinisticglorification of a set of traits allegedlyembedded in a specific national culture, and while it may be martial qualities that are so glorified, it can just as easily be the love of freedom and an attachment to faimess. Some nations may delimit membership in terms of ancestry,that is, of race or ethnicity. Others may hold membership to be defined by a voluntary and rational allegiance to a constitutionalorder. Still others may stress emotional, cultural, and experientialcriteria, as did the French thinker Ernest Renan (1823-1892) when he argued national membership is defined by “the desire to live together, the will to see maintained and valued a heritage received intact.”2 Nationalismsdiffer in content; they also differ in the emotional charge they carry. A selfconfident nationalism, accustomed to success, will likely underwrite forms of political behavior different from those encouraged by a defensive, insecure nationalism, shaped by defeat. At least in France, defensive nationalism has tended to have a destabilizing effect on representative politics and constitutionalregimes. Disappointed nationalism is bad for freedom, whose norms and institutions are more easily sustained when citizens are satisfied with the fit between their view of their nation’s proper stature (what the French call rang) and their perception of their nation’sactual place in the international system. In France, nationalism has been mobilized by different political camps at different times for different purposes, and while it has sometimes brought the French together, it has just as often exacerbated domestic political divisions. This should not be surprising, given the political ambiguities of nationalism itself and the impressive array of political regimes to which France has played host in the two hundred years since the Revolution of 1789: five republics (including the current one), three monarchies (if one counts the constitutional monarchy briefly attempted during the first years of the Revolution), two empires, and the Vichy dictatorship of 1940-1944. Typically, nationalism has been used as an opposition ideology. Republicans have used it against their monarchist opponents, accused of riding back to power “dansles fourgons de l’etranger”(“in the wagon trains of the foreigner”3)after Napoleon’s defeat in 1815. Monarchists have used it against the Republic, a regime allegedly too weak willed to impose the return of the “lostprovinces,”Alsace and Lorraine, seized by Germany in the Franco-PrussianWar of 1870- 1871. Politiciansout of power in times of unemployment have used it, blaming incumbents for s u p posedly selling out to the forces of internationalcapitalism. Elites in office have responded by branding nationalist rumblings provocative and irresponsible; their alarm is indicative of the seriousness they assigned to nationalist concerns.
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The importance of nationalism as an opposition ideology is particularly clear in the record of the nineteenth century. For most of that century, nationalism was associated with the revolutionary rhetoric of popular sovereignty and used most effectively by the left, which was out of power. In the 188Os, however, after the creation of the Third Republic, nationalism became the preferred weapon of the new regime’s right-wing critics. Bonapartism, hostile to liberty but parasitic on the doctrine of popular sovereignty, provided an important bridge between left-wing and right-wingnationalism. Nationalism’s mood also changed, reflecting changes in France’s international position. Expansionist and optimistic at the beginning of the century, nationalism had become defensive and self-absorbedby its end.
NATIONALISM AND THE LEFT: FROM THE REVOLUl’ION TO THE COMMUNE Modern nationalism made its appearance at the end of the eighteenth century, as part of the revolutionary project to turn what had been an absolutist monarchy and a multilingual kingdom into une Rbpublique une et indivisible, a single and indivisible republic. This project soon embroiled France in civil and international war. The wellspring of nationalism was the doctrine of popular sovereignty. Sovereignty specifies the location of final authority. Under an absolute monarchy, the monarch is sovereign:from his decision,there is no (earthly) appeal. Under popular sovereignty, the final arbiter of all decisions is “the people.” Both the sovereignty of an absolute monarch and popular sovereignty presuppose state sovereignty:a state secure from foreign intervention in its domestic affairs and able to command obedience from all groups within its borders. Before the momentous summer of 1789,few people hoped-and still fewer expected-to see a republic based on popular sovereignty replace the Kingdom of France. Between the Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century and the French Revolution of the eighteenth century, European state-building patterns had diverged around two sets of possibilities. One set had to do with state sovereignty: would a state emerge at all? The other set had to do with relations between state and society in places where states did emerge: how would the state secure compliance with its orders?In the German lands, religious strife and political rivalries decimated the population and prevented the emergence of a unified state in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. In England, insularity facilitated state sovereignty, while power struggles inadvertently promoted the development of representative mechanisms. In the sixteenth century, Henry VIII, politically inconvenienced by the temporal claims of religious authority, broke with the Church of Rome; in the domestic conflicts of the next century, Parliament wrested important concessions from
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the Crown. In the end, the “King-in-Parliament”was held to be sovereign. France took a yet a third path: the unity of the kingdom survived the religious and political turmoil unleashed by the Reformation,but in the same years during which England finally reached a consensus around a constitutional monarchy (in the so-called Glorious Revolution of 1688), Louis X N revoked the Edict of Nantes that had granted limited toleration to Protestants and made his court at Versailles the symbol of royal absolutism. In theory at least, the king would brook no rival or parallel powers: as he eloquently put it, “L’Etatc’est moi” (“I am the state”).Sovereignty was embodied in a single will. In 1774,Louis XVI ascended the French throne. The situationhe faced would have challenged the skills of even the most seasoned statesman;at age twenty, Louis x ” s great-great-grandsonwas the age of a college student. The Enlightenment-“man’s emergence from his self-incurredimmaturity,”as the German philosopher Immanuel Kant defined it4-was in full swing. Its thrust was to question the fullrange of assumptions on which authority in state and society rested. John Locke published his Second Treatise of Government in 1689 and his Essay Concerning Human Understanding in 1690. In France, the multivolumed EncycZopddie, whose list of collaborators reads like a who’s who of the French Enlightenment(Diderot,Voltaire, Montesquieu,and Rousseau were among the best known), appeared between 1751 and 1772. Rousseau put, lished 7be Social Contract in 1762. In Britain’s American colonies, some overexcited minds interpreted British efforts to raise revenue as a despotic design on the rights and liberties of all Englishmen.5 In the 1770s, the contest erupted into war. The war produced an unprecedented experiment in representative politics in North America, but in France, it left the monarchy, which had entered the conflict on the American side to take a swing at Britain, with a large debt. The political rigidities of the monarchy combined with changing social,eccl nomic, and cultural conditions to create a volatile situation. France was a center of intellectual ferment, but it was also in many ways a premodern country, characterized by subsistence agriculture, small towns, slow communications, and widespread illiteracy. In this setting, war and bad weather served as midwives at the birth of the French Revolution. Then as now, wars were costly, and because the economy was agricultural, bad weather was to governments then what recession and unemployment are to governments in our own day: bad economic and political news. The monarchy needed money, and given the enlightened spirit of the times, it thought it should ask before taking. In May 1789, representatives of the three orders, or “estates,”of the realm-the clergy, the nobility, and the commoners (the latter comprising the Third Estate)-gathered in Versailles. No such meeting had taken place since 1614; when in need of money (which he usually was), Louis XlV had preferred to take without asking. His descendant did not expect trouble, although weatherinduced crop failures were independently sparking unrest in the countryside.
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The king anticipated that each estate would vote separately, and since he believed that he could count on majority support within the first and second orders, he calculated that he would be able to secure the consent he required. Events, however, quickly took a different turn. On June 17, the delegates of the Third Estate voted to constitute themselves as a national assembly; three weeks later, the assembly accorded itself constituent powers. Now who was sovereign?In the view of the assembly, the king’s need for money was more than matched by the kingdom’s need for a constitution. The new body was dominated by progressive members of the clergy (like Sieyes, author of the famous pamphlet, What Is the Third Estate?) and the nobility (like Lafayette, who had served beside Washington in the American War of Independence) and by distinguished professionals from the Third Estate. These men hoped to establish a constitutional monarchy. A constitutionalmonarchy requires a willing monarch. In 1688,the British had sent an unwilling monarch packing. In the course of a very brief reign, James I1 had demonstrated his inclinations toward “Papism”and absolutism; the political class responded by shipping him off (fittingly enough) to France. In his place, ignoring the normal rules of succession, Parliament had called William and Mary to the throne to consummate a bloodless revolution. In contrast, the French revolutionaries chose to retain Louis XVI on the throne. They kept him there even afterJune 1791, when he openly displayed his hostility to the Revolution by trying to join counterrevolutionaryforces organizing across the border. The revolutionaryleaders’ decision was a fatal misstep in a situation that was already spinning out of control. The Revolution found itself besieged from within by domestic opponents and from without by hostile conservative powers on its borders. Rumors of plots and conspiracieswere especiallycommon after the King’sabortive flight, and they kept everyone on edge. Clarifying loyalties became an increasingly urgent political task. In the winter of 1791-1792, leading revolutionary figures argued that a declaration of war would force dubious characters to show their true colors. On April 20, 1792, France declared war on Austria. Despite occasional interludes, the country would remain at war for over two decades, until the combined powers of conservative Europe finally defeated Napoleon at Waterloo in 1815 and restored the Bourbons to the French throne. The war accelerated the political radicalization of the Revolution. In Sep tember 1792, a newly elected national assembly, known as the Convention, abolished the monarchy. In December, Louis XVI was put on trial, and on January 2 1,1793, he was gulllotined on what would become the Place de la Concorde in Paris; the Convention had found him “guilty of treason against the nation, and of attacks against the general security of the State.”The Revolution was now in the hands of the Jacobins (so named after the hall in which they met).6 Led by Maximilien Robespierre (1758-1794), the Jacobins formed a cohesive minority in a fragmented assembly and so dominated the Convention
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and its executive body, the Committee of Public Safety. Popular sovereignty was a key element of their ideology. Under the Old Regime, the monarch had been sovereign. He alone had been the (earthly) source of all political authority and the ultimate arbiter of all political decisions. Now, the Jacobins declared “the people” sovereign. In the elections of 1792, universal male suffrage had been introduced. The Convention could thus claim that it embodied popular sovereignty.Like the monarch it had replaced, it allowed no checks on its powers. In practice, thisgave the Jacobin leadership absolute power, since it controlled the convention. The Jacobins effectively stifled debate within the assembly, purging critics within the revolutionary camp and justifying the use of “revolutionarylegality”against their many opponents. Popular sovereignty, national self-determination, and nationalism were linked doctrines. All soon became identified with the Revolution, but each was ambiguously related to liberty, understood as requiring the organized competition of ideas and interests, the limitation of public power through checks and balances, and the protection of individual rights. Liberty was the ostensible goal of Jacobin policies, but dictatorship and war were the immediate results. Popular sovereignty, national self-determination,and nationalism all undermined the legitimacy of competition by placing a premium on the idea of the nation as a unified whole-“one and indivisible,”as the Republic was declared in September 1792, on the motion, ironically enough, of a revolutionary leader (Georges-Jacques Danton, whose statue stands on the Boulevard Saint-Gennain in Paris, his outstretched arm designating enemies across the border) who would be purged and executed in 1794. Competition and conflict were considered characteristic of the nation’s relations with external actors; they had no place in the domestic life of the nation, where unity of general purpose was somehow supposed to generate consensus on specific decisions. On the battlefield, the “people in arms” defended their republic, showcasing their civic spirit and unity and scorning the mercenary armies typical of monarchical regimes. The citizen-soldiersof the Revolution would carry the Revolution’spromise of “liberty,equality, fraternity”in their rucksacks; theirs, they were told, was a war not of expansion, but of selfdefense and then of liberation. “Ah! l a ira, l a ira, l a ira,” they sang as they faced a Prussian army at Valmy in September 1792. Les aristocrates a la lanterne!
Ah! Fa ira, Fa ira, Fa ira, Les aristocrates on les pendra Le despotisme expirera La liberte triomphera Ah! Fa ira, Fa ira, Fa ira.7
The monarchy, acting on the principle of undivided sovereignty,had in its heyday sought to centralize political power in the king and the royal administration. Rival aristocratic houses, regional parliamentary bodies, and even the
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rich and powerful Catholic Church had been co-opted or coerced into s u b mission. TheJacobins continued the centralizing policies of the monarchy, but these policies were now justified by the doctrine of undivided popular sovereignty. The Revolution’s liberating ambitions, the revolutionaries argued, required a powerful instrument in order to overcome existing obstacles. Decentralization and the toleration of intermediary bodies would have increased the opportunities for resistance at a time when the success of the Revolution still hung in the balance. Instead, the “singleand indivisible”repub lic of citizens would be forged from and by the center: the revolutionaries redrew the map of local jurisdictions so as to disrupt traditional regional identities, revised the calendar (making 1793, when the Republic was declared, Year ,)l imposed French as the national language, and created mechanisms of political participation (including the army) that offered ordinary people the opportunity to see themselves as citizens and Frenchmen. New, supposedly more egalitarian, codes of dress and speech were promoted. The revolutionary tribunals of the Terror sought to repress political and social opposition, and the guillotine became an important symbol of revolutionary activism. In the Vendee, the revolutionary project met armed resistance, and the authorities met violence with violence. The Jacobin effort to monopolize political power, recast social relations, and reshape the hearts and minds of the French put the Revolution on a collision course not just with the Crown and the aristocracy, but with the Catholic Church. In the 1790s, the Church cast its lot with the forces of counterrevolution. The issues involved in the dispute between the Church and the Revolution were complex, but the break was decisive, and it inaugurated one of the most durable lines of cleavage in modern French politics. From the Revolution on, observant Catholics (cutholiquesprutiquants, as opposed to what we would call nominal Catholics) would tend toward conservatism and hos tility to the Republic, while republicans would make anticlericalism and the secularization of public life, or Zuziitk, central elements of their program. The conflict deepened in the 186Os, when Pope Pius M issued blanket condemnations of modern society and values in two crucially important doctrinal statements, Quanta Curu and the Syllabus (1864). The Pope anathematized science,political democracy,the secular state, and industrial society. The affirmation of papal infallibility in 1870 further alarmed French republicans. The republican quarrel with the Church was national, political, and philosophical. In its national aspect, it was about sovereignty: while the Pope asserted the superiority of spiritualover temporal authority,Jules Ferry (1823- 1893), a key member of the republican generation that created the Third Republic and a prime mover behind the Republic’s efforts to secularize primary education, spoke for a long series of French state builders when he retorted: “Theindependence and sovereignty of the state constitute the first principle of our p u b lic law.”8Priests were portrayed as “submissiveagents under the thumb of an
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occult and foreign power, accustomed no longer to thinking of themselves as French citizens.”9Politically,the republicans accused the clergy of embracing the role of a “politicalfaction,”of supporting the Second Empire and maneuvering to restore the monarchy, of giving up their role as “apostlesto become the instruments of power under the most corrupt and unlawful regimes.”*o Philosophically,the republicans stood with science and free agency and again clashed with the Church: The society born in 1789 has as its primary goal to make the political and social system dependent on the idea of the supremacy of reason over grace, on the idea of the superiority of citizenship over slavery. As against the doctrine of the Roman Church, which accustoms the mind to the idea of a mysterious Providence who alone understands the secrets of its favors and its rejections, which teaches that man is nothing but a plaything in the hands of God, the Revolution teaches the sovereignty of reason, the authority and the responsibility of human will, freedom of action, and looks for the cause of suffering and of humanity’s misfortunes in the ignorance or the misdeeds of men.11
Ferry called the secularization of the state “the principal achievement, the great concern, the great passion, and the great gift of the French Revolution,”l2and another republican leader, IKon Gambetta (1838-1882), summarized the republican program of the late-nineteenthcentury when he famously exclaimed, “Le clericalisme?Voila I’ennemi!”l3(“Clericalismis the enemy!”). “Jacobinism”came to denote a set of values and practices basic to French republicanism and increasingly constitutive of French political culture in general. The package included popular sovereignty, centralized government, nationalism, and luzcit6. Luzcitg encouraged the relegation of individual identities founded on anything other than reason to the private sphere; in the public sphere, citizens were expected to emphasize traits and capacities that made them alike. Jacobinism’s most characteristic expression was its insistence on the Rgpublique une et indivisible. The Jacobin dictatorship was overthrown in July 1794 by a coup launched from within the Convention. During the Thermidorian period (1794-1799), what was left of the revolutionary center tried to devise a constitutional settlement, but its efforts were thwarted by radical opposition from both the right and the left. Meanwhile, the country remained at war, and increasingly, political power in Paris came to depend on military support. In 1799, a young Corsican who had made his career as an officer in the armies of the Revolution grabbed power in Paris. Napoleon Bonaparte would have himself crowned as emperor in 1804, and his regime, known as the First Empire, would last until 1815. The First Empire was not a military dictatorship; in fact, military dictatorship is not part of France’sotherwise rich repertoire of regimes. The Emperor owed his fame to his military prowess, and his regime, continually at war, would not
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survive military defeat. But Napoleon did not staff his government with military officers. Instead, he modernized and professionalized the state bureaucracy, continuing the centralizing strategy initiated by the monarchy and developed by the governments of the revolutionary period. The prefect, a key figure in French political life until the decentralization reforms of the Socialist government officially did away with the office in 1982,was a Napoleonic invention.14 France’slegal code, known as the Napoleonic Code, was adopted in 1804.Convinced that a modern state required competent administratorssocialized to loyalty, Napoleon revamped the country’s system of secondary education; the &des would provide a pool of qualified candidates.We shall revisit the limits of the Napoleonic state in chapter 6, but its strengths were signrficant. Nationalismplayed a key legitimating role during the First Empire. Napoleon maintained the revolutionary commitment to popular sovereignty, but he explicitly detached it from representative politics. Freedom, he argued, had brought instability and disorder. He derived his right to rule from the charis matic, plebiscitary quality of his leadership:he claimed direct knowledge of the national interest and the people’s will, and he condemned parties and partisan politics as artificially divisive and self-interested.He borrowed imagery and institutionsfrom all of France’spolitical traditions,and he accepted the services of people with diverse political backgrounds. Only a united nation, Napoleon argued, could hope to achieve greatness, and if unity could be bought only at the price of suppressing dissent, the Emperor thought the deal was a bargain. He negotiated agreements with the Catholic Church, but on terms that so favored the authority of the French state that they were ultimately denounced by Rome; the Church continued to support a return to the monarchy. Napoleon muzzled the press and arrested opponents on both the right and the left. Only once had the Revolution organized an election on the basis of universal male suffrage; Napoleon restored universal suffrage, but allowed its use only for plebiscitary purposes. Instead of voting in competitive elections for their r e p resentatives,the French would now be called upon only to accept or reject the government’s position on major public issues-and the government would decide whether and how to ask the question. Napoleon seemed to keep up his end of his regime’s promise. The First Empire did provide-for a time-both order and national greatness.As long as Napoleon delivered the goods, the population remained relatively passive. But while the First Empire imposed peace at home, it meant continued war beyond France’sborders. War entailed economic disruptions and distortionsas well as conscription and death. We remember the disastrous campaigns in Spain and Russia in part because Goya immortalized in his art the ferocity of the former, in which “guerillas”fought regular troops (the word dates from this war), and in part because the Russianwinter did to Hitler’sarmieswhat it had earlier done to Napoleon’s. The Napoleonic Wars were, however, far less devastating demographicallyor significant economicallythan would be the world wars of
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the twentieth century. The real problem was that they seemed impossible to end and that, finally, the effort they required proved unsustainable. On March 31, 1814, Allied troops marched into Paris. A week later, Napoleon abdicated and headed for the island of Elba. The Bourbon pretender to the throne, brother to the executed Louis XVI, returned to Paris and reclaimed the throne as Louis XVIII. The Treaty of Paris (May 30), relatively generous, reestablished France within the borders that had existed at the outbreak of war in 1792.A week later, the King issued a constitutional document. The Charter, as the document was called, reaffirmed the sovereign character of royal power, but it also promised a bicameral parliament and the protection of civil liberties, including freedom of religion and of the press. The lower house of parliament would be elected by the tiny percentage of the adult male population able to meet the property requirement. The popularity of the new regime would depend on its ability to win the loyalty of the many people bound by material or ideological interests to the Revolution or the Empire: government officials, the officers and men of the army, and a host of people who had bought property confiscated from the nobility or the Church during the Revolution. But Louis XVIII, who had himself fled France in 1791, was surrounded in part by returning exiles who had “learned nothing and understood nothing” during their years abroad and by a clergy intransigent in its condemnationof the Revolution. These men hoped for a radical restoration of the old regime and took verbal and social revenge on their enemies whenever more concrete forms of retribution remained beyond reach. Thus, the monarchy missed its chance to achieve national reconciliation; it was a critical moment at which the political class failed to converge on a political settlement. There would be many similar moments over the next century and a half, as one regime succeeded another. In the short term, the nation’s misfortune was Napoleon’s chance: the deposed emperor saw in the monarchy’s ideologicalrigidity and partisanshipan opportunity to regain power. He landed in southern France in early March 1815 with a thousand men and headed for Paris, assembling an army as he went. Within three weeks, he was back in the capital-and Louis XVIII was again in exile. Napoleon, however, was equally unable to propose a durable political settlement: he faced armed opposition at home, and even more importantly, England, Russia, Austria, and Prussia were determined to be rid of him. He was vastly outgunned by the European coalition arrayed against him. On June 18, 1815, the Duke of Wellington routed Napoleon’s makeshift forces at Waterloo; four days later, Napoleon abdicated once again, bringing to an end the so-called Hundred Days. After some hesitation, the Allies decided to give Louis XVIII another chance. The second Treaty of Paris (November 20, 1815), however, dictated terms far less favorable than had the first. The borders of January 1790 were reestablished, and France was forced to pay reparations to the victorious Allies. Until
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the payments were made, an occupation force would remain in the country. It was a galling experience for a country whose armies had so recently swept across Europe. The original goal of the revolutionary elite had been the creation of a constitutionalmonarchy. With the defeat of the First Empire, that political project returned to center stage and dominated French politics for the better part of two generations, from 1815 to 1848. It failed, not least because it could not appropriate the nationalist sentimentsthat the Revolution had unleashed and the Empire had cultivated. In the late 1780s, the effort to create a constitutional monarchy had seemed like a bold step forward for France, entirely compatible with greatness and power. By 1815, this was no longer the case. Under the Restoration Monarchy (1815-1830) especially, France was an objectively diminished power, and its ruling circles-bent on revenge, identified with clerical reaction, given to obsessive lamentations about the allegedly irreparable evils of the Revolution and the dastardliness of those who had supported it-talked in ways that highlighted the contrast between a cramped,mediocre present and an immediate past which, for all its tragedy, had been laced with glory and exhilaration. The “Legitimist”kings of the Restoration Monarchy--Louis Xvm (reigned 1815-1824) and Charles X (1824-183O)-were too reliant on repression to nurture a coalition even among those favorable to a constitutional monarchy, and their regime never shed the opprobrium of owing its existence to the defeat of French arms. In July 1830, it was swept aside, and the “Orleanist” branch of the royal family took power. Charles X was replaced by Louis Philippe, the “citizen-king’’who, in a partial concession to the revolutionary doctrine of popular sovereignty, declared himself “kingof the French”(in contrast to the Legitimist title, “kingof France”).But the July Monarchy, as the new regime was called, while more innovative and forward-lookingthan its predecessor, labored under many of the same political handicaps: its coalition was too circumstantial and its legitimacy too fragile. In February 1848, elite discontent and social unrest again provoked the fall of a political regime. With royalist options exhausted, a republic seemed possible. Memories of the Terror had receded, while the conjunction of the romantic movement (represented by writers like Victor Hugo and artists like Eugene Delacroix) and socioeconomic change encouraged sympathy for a vaguely defined socialist response to new forms of urban poverty. The Second Republic seemed ready to reach out to all of France’s political families while promising the country’s neighbors continued peace. The new regime reestablished universal male suffrage, abolished slavery in the colonies, did away with the death penalty for political crimes, and renounced expansionary ambitions beyond France’s borders. Priests helped plant “liberty trees” along Parisian thoroughfares. The universal validity of the Revolution’sideals was reaffirmed, but what France had once tried to export by force of arms, it
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claimed it would now simply share by power of example. The result was a potent mix of nationalism and cosmopolitanism, of cultural self-affirmation and universalism. This mix was to remain a defining trait of French republicanism. Those who operated within its assumptions tended not to sense its contradictions. “France,”Michelet exclaimed, “is our glorious mother-and not just our own, but one who could mother any nation to liberty.”15A centwy later, Algerian nationalists would see France differently. The atmosphere of reconciliation that characterized the early spring of 1848 did not last. Even before a formal constitution could be drafted, the clash of social interests reactivated political divisions. The provisional government had initially sought to alleviate hardship among the capital’spoor by providing public employment in “nationalworkshops,”but in June, it moved to close the workshops. When desperate workers rioted, the government called out the largely middle-class national guard. The result was what one historian has called “class warfare in pure form.”16The cost in human lives, borne mostly by the workers, was stunning: thousands died, killed in street battles or summarily shot as the National Guard retook neighborhoods; another fifteen thousand were deported to Algeria, which France had occupied under the July Monarchy.” Once again, an opportunity to establish a political settlement had slipped away, although the new Republic appeared to have survived. It did not yet have a constitution. Republics were still a rarity, and the men charged with producing a constitutionaldtaft had only a speculative understanding of how their decisions might affect political behavior. Still, no one wanted to see a repeat of the First Republic, indelibly stained by the Terror, so different institutional arrangementswere devised. In the First Republic, all power had been vested in the Convention. In the Second Republic, a monocameral assembly was to be flanked by an independent executive. An elected president would serve for a nonrenewable four-year term. The first and only presidential election of the Second Republic was held on December 10, 1848. Its unexpected and overwhelming winner was Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, nephew of the great Napoleon. The unsuccessful candidates had well-defined political records. Bonaparte, in contrast, ran on what we would call name recognition. His supporters ranged from sophisticated conservativeswho mistakenly thought they would be able to manipulate him to peasants whose political motivations remain unclear. Once elected, Bonaparte showed no inclination to relinquish his office as required by the constitution, and the conservative elites who had helped p r o pel him to power showed little eagerness to defend the Republic. Their notsosecret wish was to give the monarchy yet another run,but they were outmaneuvered by Bonaparte,who staged a coup in December 1851.By 1852, France had embarked on another political experiment, the Second Empire. The Second Empire lasted a generation and is perhaps best viewed in terms
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of the domestic and international transitions with which it was contemporaneous; it contributed to the former and responded to the latter. At home, significant social, economic, and political change was taking place. The road and especially the railway network expanded dramatically, facilitatingeconomic exchange. The money supply grew, credit became more readily available as the banking system modernized, the Paris stock market assumed new importance, and industrial activity increased. Urban infrastructureswere renewed; rural poverty became less grinding. Illiteracy receded; between 1851 and 1881, the percentage of children between five and fourteen in school increased from 51 percent to 77 percent.18 Diets changed. Moderately repressive through the first decade of its existence, the regime became hesitantly permissive during its second decade. The opposition organized; the press acquired a new importance. Bonaparte’suncle, made of sterner stuff than his nephew, would have been horrified. Meanwhile, important changes were taking place on France’s eastern border. Previously, in the absence of a unified German state, England had been France’sgreat rival. Now, new patterns of international competitionemerged. In the 1860s, the Prussian Emperor Wilhelm 1’s prime minister, Otto von Bismarck, was, as he eloquently put it, settling questions in central Europe “by iron and blood.”19For decades, Austria and Prussia had vied for domination in central Europe. On July 3, 1866, Prussia defeated Austria and its allies at the battle of Koni@tz, and Bismarck closed in on his goal of forging a unified German state, without Austria but under Prussian leadership. The question of the Spanish succession and French blustering soon provided an occasion for completing the task. The Spanish throne was open, and the French let it be known that they did not wish to see a German sitting on it. A public that had refused to support the modernization of a demoralized and ill-equipped army now clamored for the overly assertive Prussians to be taught a lesson. The French were diplomaticallyisolated and outgunned in the field; for them, the Franco-PrussianWar was a disaster. On September 1,1870,Bonaparte was defeated and made prisoner at Sedan. The Second Empire collapsed. In the ensuing weeks, the former republican opposition attempted simultaneously to organize a new government and to rally the country militarily to repel the advancing Prussians. The task was too great. On January 28, 1871, the government capitulated. Hastily called elections, held on February 8, returned an assembly relatively open to making peace on unfavorableterms; the assembly decided to meet in Versailles, rather than Paris. Six weeks later, on March 18, more intransigent activists in Paris organized an insurrectionarymovement that we remember as the Commune. The Communurds espoused a potent blend of social radicalism and nationalism: though some elements were more motivated by one ideological program than by the other, the movement was generally hostile both to the Versailles government’s conservative social inclinations and to its apparent willingness
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to accept draconian peace terms. The VersuiZZuis,observing developments in Paris, feared that the hardships of military defeat were about to be compounded by social revolution. On May 10,1871,French representativessigned the Treaty of Frankfurt,ceding control of Alsace and Lorraine to Germany. During the last week of May, the Commune was crushed-at the price of some twenty-five thousand lives, almost all of them Communards. In fact, the wave of repression claimed more victims than had the Jacobin Terror.20 For neither the first nor the last time, domestic strife occasioned by foreign conflict had produced a river of bitterness and blood instead of a political settlement. And nationalism was still politically up for grabs, most likely to be appropriated by groups that found themselves on the outside of a contested political settlement.
NATIONALISM AND THE RIGHT: FROM THE BOULANGER AFFAIR TO THE GREAT WAR In the 1870s, another republic emerged-literally, for no formal constitution was ever adopted-because it was, as the conservative statesman Adolphe Thiers (1797-1877) noted, “the regime that divides us least.” The Third Republic began with three strikes against it. On the right, it was opposed by both royalist camps, the Legitimists and the Orleanists. On the left, it was rejected by those who considered the Commune to be an expression of working-class socialism and the savage repression visited on its supporters to be illuminated by Thiers’s claim that the Republic would be conservative or it would simply never be.21 And finally the new regime alienated nationalist sentiment, for although the Republic extolled martial qualities as the cornerstone of manliness and public virtue, considered service in the armed forces an obligatory aspect of citizenship, and made references to the “lost provinces” a constant theme of public discourse, it made no move to recover Alsace and Lorraine by force of arms. Instead, republican elites focused their energies on winning political converts at home (where in countless villages, republican schoolteachers squared off against the local priest in a contest for the hearts and minds of the population) and on projecting French power beyond the European theater, in places (southeast Asia and North Africa) where it was less likely to encounter superior force than would have been the case had French armies sought to retake Alsace and Lorraine. The republican combination of combativeness at home and caution abroad invited criticism from the right, which by the 1880s was using nationalism to win support for its antirepublican positions. Nationalism played a key role in both the Boulanger Affair of the late 1880s and the DreyfusAffair of the late 1890s,two central crises that marked French political life in the decades between the defeat of 1870 and the outbreak of
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war in August 1914. Each episode illustrated both the disruptive potential of nationalism and the fraghty of the republican political settlement. The Boulanger movement of the 188Os, like the Poujadist movement of the 1950s (named for its leader, Pierre Poujade), became a referent in discussions of the extreme right National Front of the 1980s and 1990s. All three movements developed against a backdrop of economic dislocation.All used populist rhetoric to attack political incumbents in general and republican incumbents in particular; “touspourris!” (“all rotten!”) was the usual accusation. All were plebiscitarianand antiparliamentaryin their institutionalpreferences. All relied on nationalism to win support across preexisting lines of left-right and partisan cleavage. This package of political traits is often called bonapartism.Taken individually,bonapartist episodes are typically ephemeral-of the three movements mentioned, only the National Front had any political staying power, and it never seriously threatened the stabilityof the Republic-but the tradition has proven durable, and its durability suggests a permanent vulnerability of republican politics. Bonapartism is inconceivable without the angry nationalism that was its trademark, and it was during the Boulanger Affair that urban, lower-middleclass nationalism made the move from left to right. The parliamentary elections of 1885 were held during a period of economic difficulty. Like so many other French elections,they produced no stable majority. The young republic already had enemies: they included monarchists who longed for a restoration and observant Catholicswho resented the Republic’smilitant secularism. But republicans were also deeply divided amongst themselves, and by appearing too weak to protect French national interests and too conservativeto promote social justice, the Republic was making new enemies out of past or potential friends. Workers, hard hit by the economic crisis, turned to socialism, syndicalism, and revolutionary anarchism. Nationalists held electoral and parliamentary politics responsible for governmental weakness at home and in the international arena and turned against parliamentarism. In their new-found antiliberalism, they made common cause with monarchists and others who rejected the Republic on principle. General Georges-Ernest Boulanger was named minister of war in January 1886. At the time of his nomination, he was considered a friend of the republican left, the so-called Radicals. He quickly confirmed his reputation by reassigningpoliticallyunreliable units, relieving royalist officersof their commands, attending to military preparedness, and improving living conditions for common soldiers. The restraint his troops showed during a lengthy miners’ strike won him sympathy among workers. Soon, however, the minister seemed engaged in a dangerous game of brinksmanship with Bismarck over the status of Alsace and Lorraine. Boulanger’sbluster played well with the public (so too did his dashing appearance), but it alarmed cooler heads in the cabinet. France was sparring with England for colonial dominationin Africa and elsewhere and
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had not yet struck an alliance with Russia; diplomaticallyisolated, the country could ill afford to pick another fight with Germany. Amidst continuing cabinet instability, Boulanger lost his cabinet position in May 1887.The new government inclined toward the center-right,and the moderates (or “Opportunists,”as they were often called) who supported it dis trusted Boulanger’s self-promotional tendencies. The moderates’ anxieties were exacerbated in July, when a crowd turned up at the Gare de Lyon to protest Boulanger’s transfer to the provincial city of Clermont-Ferrand.The Radicals, meanwhile, had little use for a government supported by moderate monarchists; the left was particularly hostile to the Opportunist leader, Jules Ferry, and to the president of the Republic,Jules Grevy (1807-1891). In this politically volatile atmosphere, a scandal erupted. Grevy’s son-in-law, it seemed, had been in the business of selling military decorations, and the president himself was tainted. Press reports suggested that Boulanger was implicated Boulanger defended himself in politically threatening language,publicly accusing the man who had replaced him as minister of planting the stories; the minister responded by slapping his fellow general in jail. At this point, however, Boulangerwas still a sideshow.The real drama pitted the Radicals against the Opportunists, and especiallyagainst Ferry, who appeared poised to replace Grevy as president. Ferry, who served intermittently as minister of public education and prime minister between 1879 and 1885, is remembered primarily for the decisive role he played in making public education free, obligatory, and secular-an important goal that all republicans shared. In the 188Os, however, the left reviled him for his hostility to the Commune, his emphasis on colonial expansion over the rivalry with Germany, and his general readiness to compromise with more conservative forces in order to achieve republican stability. Determined to block Ferry’s advancement,the Radicals were satisfied with the election of another moderate, Sadi Camot. The unedifying spectacle of republican infighting and scandal had a predictably negative effect on the image of the regime. Disgusted nationalists, many with left-wing credentials, began calling for new institutions. They argued that, in its existing form, the Republic had demonstrated its inability to provide the strong leadership the country required. Monarchists had been making this argument for years. Ambitious, popular, and personally thwarted by the incumbent leadership of the Republic, Boulanger seemed an ideal choice to lead a protest movement. Activeduty military personnel were barred by law from elective office. Forced into retirement by the government in March 1888, Boulanger was free to enter the political arena. On April 15, he crushed his opponent in a parliamentary by-election in the Nord, winning overwhelming support among workingxlassvoters. In parliament as on the campaign trail, he emphasized the need for both constitutional reform and progressive social legislation. A new government scrambled to defuse the discontent that was fueling Boulanger’sp o p
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ularity but was hampered by economic troubles, social unrest, and (as always) political divisions. Boulanger’s supporters, meanwhile, clamored for the opportunity to test support for the general in Paris, normally a bastion of Radicalism. In January 1889, the death of a Radical deputy gave Boulanger his chance. By now, most republican leaders, whatever their differences, were convinced that Boulanger was an aspiring dictator as well as a reckless demagogue. They united behind the rival candidacy of aouard Jacques, a moderate Radical. On January 27, Boulanger won an overwhelming electoral victory. Soon there was talk that a coup detat might be in the offing. Boulanger insisted that he had no intention of breaking the law and had every confidence that his supporterswould sweep the general elections scheduledfor September 22 and October 6, 1889. That indeed was the government’s other fear. The govemment responded with a series of repressive measures clearly intended to crip ple the Boulangist movement. Fearing he might be the object of foul play, Boulanger fled the country on April 1,1889.His support fractured, and the fall elections were a relative victory for republican forces.Boulangisme was a predominantly urban phenomenon; the elections reminded everyone that France was still an overwhelminglyrural country. In September 1891, Boulangercommimed suicide on the gave of his mistress. The crisis was over, but it had transformed the relationship between nationalism and the right, opening up new possibilities for the Republic’s oppo nents. While the Republic was now the country’s default regime, it was too deeply contested to make its remaining critics seem quixotic. Monarchism was no longer a compelling political program, but nationalism was,and the right-wing opposition seized on it, using its disappointments to bludgeon a regime the antirepublican right despised but could not replace. On the left, nationalism, by showing up too often in antirepublican company,had become an awkward ally: it was not abandoned, but it was demoted. Other ideals-liberty, equality, and solidarity-were more important. This shift disadvantaged the left. Especially in times of crisis, the left needed the extra support that nationalism could provide in order to maintain a working coalition in what remained a very divided country. Nationalism had become, and would remain, a devilishly destabilizing factor in French politics. Within a decade, the Dreyfus Affair cemented the link between nationalism and hostility to individual rights; it also associated nationalism more specifically with antisemitism. In September 1894, French military intelligence obtained information suggesting that someone had been leaking classified documents to the German military attache. Alfred Dreyfus (1859-1935) was an artillery officer on temporary assignment to the army general staff. He had no unconventional political commitments that might explain treason, no professional grudges, no habits his resources could not support, and no links to women of ill repute. The evidence against him was thin,but he fit the prufile hastily developed by officers investigating the alleged crime, and he was
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aJew. He was not particularly popular with his peers, and he was not the protege of any more powerful officer in the hierarchy. In mid-October, Dreyfus was arrested, and just before Christmas, a military court, deliberating in closed chambers, pronounced him guilty of treason. Sentenced to life in prison, Dreyfus was sent to prison on Devil’s Island, off the coast of French Guiana in South America. Most people thought he had gotten off lightly. The document that had “established”Dreyfus’sguilt, however, turned out to be the work of another officer. By May 1896, the army command knew that a miscarriage of justice had occurred, and soon information exonerating Dreyfus was passed on to potentially sympathetic political figures. The antisemitic press also mobilized Gdouard Drumont’s newspaper, L a Libre Parole, was especially vicious), but still there was no “affair.”Then on January 13, 1898, the novelist Emile Zola published an article that would make history. The piece, in the form of an open letter to Felix Faure, the president of the Republic, owed its title to the republican politician Georges Clemenceau. Like Zola, Clemenceau had become convinced of Dreyfus’s innocence. “J’accuse!” the headline announced.22The Affair had been launched. The narrative of the Affair is immensely complicated,and some details have never been fully clarified. But the narrative need not detain us. The Affair pitted two competing definitions of France against each other; it occasioned a verbal civil war punctuated by incidents of real violence. The dreyfusards defined France in terms of the universalist, rationalist public values of the Republic: their France was open to all who were prepared to serve it and to adopt its cultural framework. Alfred Dreyfus’s family was Alsatian; after France’sdefeat in the Franco-PrussianWar, Alfred’sfather had chosen France, and Alfred himself had chosen the prestigious &ole Polytechnique and the army. The antidreyfusards defined French identity in terms of the great pillars of French history: the monarchy and the Church. People unattached to those pillars-Protestants, Free Masons, Jews, and socialists (among others)-were considered “foreigners” and potential traitors. The antidreyfusards believed in the necessity of authority and hierarchy, not individual rights: they were quite prepared to sacrifice the honor and freedom of an innocent man (especially a Jew) to the interests of the army. In July 1906, a court of appeals finally reversed Dreyfus’sconviction, cleared his name, and mandated his reinstatement and promotion in the army. Eight months earlier, the Republic had attempted closure on another burning issue: it had declared the separation of church and state. Relations between the Republic and the Vatican had been broken the previous year. The Dreyfus Affair and the church-state conflict were related, and in both cases, true closure would remain out of reach. Decades later, in 1940,the philosopher and polemicist Charles Maurras, a key figure on the antirepublican,nationalist right during the Third Republic, would find in the defeat of his country a fitting revenge for the defeat of the antidreyfvsards. The civil war occasioned by that later defeat
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would be fought with live ammunition, but the issues raised would resemble those of the Dreyfus Affair. In the short seven years between the end of the Dreyfus Affair and the assassination of the Archduke Franz Ferdinand in Sarajevo on June 28, 1914, the domestic divisions that had crystallized during the Dreyfus Affair and the church-state battle would find expression once again in a controversyover the length of compulsory military service. The military high command wanted the length of service extended to three years. Many socialists were antimilitarist and few republicans had unlimited trust in the political loyalties of the profes sional officer corps, but in an atmosphere of mounting international tensions, the Zoi de trois a m (three years’ law) won parliamentary approval in the summer of 1913. In February 1913, the newly elected president, Raymond Poincare, had laid out the rationale. He linked the law simultaneously to the Republic’s commitment to peace and to France’s vocation to remain a great power: “A people can preserve the peace only on the condition of being always prepared for war. A diminished France, a France exposed, by its own culpable actions, to challenges and humiliations,would no longer be France.”*3 Poincare’s words suggested the ways in which the affirmation of French greatness was central to all definitions of French identity, however conflictual those definitions might otherwise be.
WORLD WAR I For nearly a century after Waterloo, a balance of power (and the distractions afforded by imperialpolitics) had kept a relative peace among the major European countries. After German unification, the balance increasingly gave way to the formation of potentially hostile blocs around Britain and Germany. After 1905, international crises multiplied, compounded by the domestic destabilization of tsarist Russia and ongoing problems within the multinational Austro-Hungarian Empire. With each incident, the stakes rose. Still, in the summer of 1914, no one expected war-much less a long war, and least of all a long and catastrophic world war. The assassination of Franz Ferdinand-heir to the Austrian throne-by a teenage Serb nationalist might have produced one more episode of brinksmanship, but it is in the nature of such games sometimes to get out of control. In the wake of the murder, Germany supported Austria’s demands on Serbia; Serbia activated a series of interlocking alliances among France, Britain,and Russia; the process snowballed. On August 1,1914, the French government ordered a general military callup. Two days later, Germany declared war on France. In the bloodletting that followed, a generation of young men disappeared: killed, mutilated, gassed, psychologically destroyed. Much of the fighting took place on French soil,
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and the names of the killing fields-the Somme, the Marne, Verdun, the Chemin des Dames-would remain engraved in the nation’s collective consciousness for the rest of the century. Something like ten million people, mostly men between the ages of eighteen and forty, died during the four years of killing between August 1914 and November 1918, and about double that number were wounded. During the nine-month battle at Verdun (a battle the French “won”),nine hundred thousand men perished. France lost 1,385,000 men during the war, with another 750,000 totally incapacitated by their injuries. This meant that of every ten men who had been between the ages of twenty and forty-five in 1914, by 1918, two were dead, one was incapacitated, and three were handicapped in one way or another. Only four were whole, if any person can be whole after extended exposure to mud, lice, poison gas, dismembered bodies, and death. Human carnage on a previously unimaginable scale affected political life in the belligerent countries in different ways. The war led, directly or indirectly, to revolutionary violence and regime changes in Russia, Germany, and Italy. France entered the conflict with a contested regime and a well-earned reputation for domestic divisions, yet when put to the test, the nation united and the Republic survived. The so-called union sucrke (sacred union) of 1914-1917 and the absence of a regime change during or after the war obscure a more complex reality linked to the ambiguities of French nationalism and the framty of the political settlement represented by the Third Republic. To many people in government circles, the union sucrke was a happy surprise.Antimilitarismand pacificism were widespread in the working class and socialist movements, and the government had secretly prepared a list of activists-the so-called Curnet B-to be arrested in the event of war. The Curnet B was never used. In 1914, French public opinion was virtually unanimous in its view that Germany had been looking for a fight, whereas France had been dragged unwillingly into war. If the political right saw in Germany France’s hereditary enemy (les Boches, barbarous hordes who raped women and bayoneted children), the left condemned the Reich as an authoritarian,militarist regime. For the right, in other words, Germany was the enemy, simply by virtue of its geopolitical situation; for the left, militarism was the enemy, and the German regime was an exemplar of it; in either case, the fight engaged in August 1914 was a just and necessary fight. Thus the union sumke brought together parties that understood the causes and the goals of the war quite differently. It was a temporary, though critically important, union. After the war, the differences among the participants would come into play, with equally dramatic consequences. Poincare rightly predicted that France would be “heroicallydefended by all her sons, whose union sumbe in the face of the enemy nothing will break.”** Priests who had gone into exile during the church-state crisis returned home to join the army. In a politically divided nation, patriotism remained a common
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reflex. People who, for ideological reasons, would not join in the cry “Vivela Republique!”could always fall back on “Vivela France!” During and after the Second World War, Charles de Gaulle would habitually end speeches to the nation with both expressions. On August 15, 1914, L a Revue du clerge’ franGais articulated the French Church’sunderstanding of France’suniversalist mission. It made no mention of the Republic, but it left little doubt as to the patriotism of Catholic troops: “Francecannot perish. The world would miss her, for she gives it an exquisite flair.The Church would miss her, for she is its indefatigable apostle. God would miss her: she is his generous knight.”25 While the right invoked the eternal qualities of France, the left united behind the values of republican nationalism. On August 4,1914, Uon Jouhaux, leader of France’slargest trade union, eulogized Jean Jaures, the great republican and socialist leader who had been assassinated by a right-wingfanatic on the eve of the general mobilization.26 To the representatives of all of France’s political families,gathered to mourn a man many had viciously attacked while he lived, Jouhaux proclaimed: “Wewill be the soldiers of freedom.”27 As the front line stabilized and the fighting dragged on, missionary zeal dissipated; the determinationto defend France did not. Despite the murderous, miserable nature of the war, the only signrficant mutinies occurred in May 1917, and they were not politically motivated. Exhausted troops refused to return to the front lines, where they knew a pointless death awaited them. In mid-May, a change in command solved the problem: Philippe Petain replaced the disastrous General Robert Nivelle as commander of French forces in the main theater of operations. The union sacrke held up well in the trenches and had a noticeable impact in the corridors of power, where for the first three years of the war, socialists served in governments of national unity, but on balance it did little to broaden the base of democratic politics in France. It did not strengthen the party system, and if anything, it may have cultivated antiparliamentary sentiment on both the left and the right. These trends are particularly visible in leadership patterns at the national level and in the evolution of the socialist movement during the war. War typically promotes a redistribution of power away from the legislature and to the executive. This tendency, common to all democratic systems, created particular problems in France. Since the Third Republic was a parliamentary system, there was no independent executive, and since parliament was fragmented and the parties were weak, no parliamentary leader was likely to be supported by a strong coalition with deep connections to the electorate. During the early months of the war, the civilian leadership of the country (relocated to Bordeaux, since German armies were threatening Paris) was effectively sidelined by the army high command under GeneralJosephJoffre. For many on the right, this was like a dream come true: they still hoped to be rid of the Republic.
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When Joffre failed to deliver a quick victory, civilian leaders gradually reasserted their authority. They kept the armies in the field supplied (no mean feat), but they did not put a stop to war profiteering or protect the middle classes from the effects of wartime inflation. Their debates and activities seemed part of the generally unedifying life that continued behind the lines, and many men in the trenches spoke of them and their political games with contempt. Different groups emphasized different issues, but whatever the problem, parliament was not widely viewed as part of the solution. The war’s most memorable leader, Georges Clemenceau, “resolutely republican, viscerally anticlerical, passionately dreyfusard,”28 exemplified the possibilities and limits of republican leadership during the Third Republic. Clemenceau’s republican convictions made him an individualist and a patriot. They also hardened his disdain for the collectivist, antimilitarist ethic of the nascent working-class movement; he let it be known that he would have arrested the men whose names figured in the Carnet B had he been in power in 1914. His government included no socialists, and during a previous term in power (1906-1909), he had unhesitatingly used lethal force to break strikes. For the last year of the war and through the peace negotiations that followed, Clemenceau led the country, without trying to mobilize public opinion against the political class, but also without trying to organize systematic channels of communication between public opinion and the political class. He remained “aman without a broad parliamentary base, politically isolated among the Chamber’s important groups and parties, enjoying a public popularity that constituted his strength, but which, unlike Boulanger, he did not base on a critique of the regime and its institutions.”29To credit a democrat with not being a bonapartist is to condemn with faint praise. Single-minded in his pursuit of victory in 1917-1918, Clemenceau was equally determined to secure a peace agreement that would leave Germany unable to harm France; in his understanding of what the war was about, he was closer to the right than to the left. He understood the limits beyond which calls for revenge and reparations would become politically counterproductive (encouraging a similar revanchard movement in Germany), but he otherwise made the popular slogan “L’A1lemagnepaiera.f” (“Germanywill pay!”) his own, and he placed little stock in the possible benefits of collective security arrangements like the League of Nations. Clemenceau’sstrong personal leadership and clear hostility to collectivism may have helped preclude a radicalization of the right during or immediately following the war, but as strikes multiplied in 1917-1918, his hard-line views on domestic and international questions deepened the political alienation of a significant part of the working-classmovement. Clemenceau became prime minister ten days after the Bolsheviks seized power in Russia, in what was the second Russian revolution of 1917 (the first, in March, had led to the abdication of the tsar and the creation of a would-be constitutional govement
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under the leadership of Alexander Kerensky). In France, the socialist movement was in crisis, torn between a reformist wing and an increasingly militant faction. The latter drew its growing strength in part from disappointment at the meager results wartime working-class loyalty had produced in terms of social policy and political power at home and in part from the conviction that the war had created the conditions for revolutionary change. In 1920, the movement split, giving birth to the Parti communistefranGais (French Communist Party, or PCF). While the old socialist party (SectionfranGaisede Z‘Znternationale ouvri&re,French Section of the Workers’ International, or SFIO) would remain faithful to parliamentary politics, it had constantly to contend with a better organized, more radical force on its left, and it often did so by making rhetorical concessions to revolutionarypolitics (these developments are more fully discussed in chapter 5). Clemenceau bowed out of politics in January 1920. He had hoped to become president, and to make that figurehead office into a more effective executive position. The right was always clamoring for a stronger executive, and Clemenceau’s nationalist credentials were hard to match, but now the right remembered that Clemenceau had been a dreyfiard and remained committed to the secular republic. His France was not the right’sFrance, just as it was not the France of the socialists he and the right both despised. An inclusive nationalism would be articulated a generation later, by a man who at crucial moments would build his leadership around it. In one of the most famous political texts of French history, Charles de Gaulle wrote: Toute ma vie, je me suis fait une certaine idee de la France. Le sentiment me I’inspire aussi bien que la raison. Ce qu’il y a, en moi, d’affectif imagine naturellement la France, telle la princesse des contes ou la madone aux fresquesdes murs, c o m e vouee a une destinee Cminente et exceptionnelle. J’ai, d’instinct, l’impression que la Providence l’a creee pour des succes achevks ou des malheurs exemplaires. S’il advient que la mediocrite marque, pourtant, ses faits et gestes, j’en eprouve la sensation d’une absurde anomalie, imputable aux fautes des Franqais, non au genie de la patrie. Mais aussi, le c6te positif de mon esprit me convainc que la France n’est reellement elle-mCme qu’au premier rang; que, seule, de vastes entreprises sont susceptiblesde compenser les ferments de dispersion que son peuple porte en lui-meme; que notre pays, tel qu’il est, parmi les autres, tels qu’ilssont, doit, sous peine de danger mortel, viser haut et se tenir droit. Bref, a mon sens, la France ne peut Ctre la France sans la grandeur.30
De Gaulle, recounting in his memoirs his triumphant march down the Champs-Elyseesof liberated Paris on August 26,1944, embraced all the often contradictory projects that had made France great: A chaque pas que je fais sur l’axele plus illustre du monde, il me semble que les
gloires du passe s’associent a celle d’aujourd’hui.Sous l’Arc, en notre honneur, la flamme s’eleveallegrement. Cette avenue, que l’armee triomphante suivit il y
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a vingtcinq ans, s’ouvre radieuse devant nous. Sur son piedestal, Clemenceau, que je salue en passant, a l’air de s’elancer pour venir a nos c6tes. Les marronniers des Champs-Elysees, dont revait I’Aiglon prisonnier et qui virent, pendant tant de lustres, se deployer les @ces et les prestiges francpis, s’offrent en estrades joyeuses a des milliers de spectateurs. Les Tuileries, qui encadkrent la majesti de 1’Etat sous deux empereurs et deux royautes, la Concorde et le Carrousel qui assisterent aux dechainements de l’enthousiasme rkvolutionnaire et aux revues des regiments vainqueurs; les rues et les ponts aux noms de batailles gagnees; sur I’autre rive de la Seine, les Invalides, d6me etincelant encore de la splendeur du Roi-Soleil, tombeau de Turenne, de Napoleon, de Foch; l’hstitut, qu’honorerent tant d’illustres esprits, sont les temoins bienveillants du fleuve humain qui coule aupres d’eux. Voici qu’a leur tour: le Louvre, ou la continuite des rois reussit a biitir la France; sur leur socle, les statues de Jeanne d’Arc et de Henri IV;le palais de Saint-Louis dont, justement, c’etait hier la fete; Notre-Dame, priere de Paris, et la Cite, son berceau, participent a I’evenement. L’Histoire, ramassee dans ces’pierreset dans ces places, on dirait qu’elle nous sourit.31
Such an ecumenicalform of nationalism was still beyond the reach of French actors in the years following World War I, and so too were the institutions and political coalitions it would have permitted. The war had produced new political challenges, but the French went at the new problems with old tools: their institutions and their political culture were substantially similar to what they had been before 1914.The right was content with the smashingvictory it won in the parliamentary elections of November 16, 1919; the left was profoundly and durably divided. The Republic was still the country’s default regime: no more, no less. As the deeply flawed Versailles Treaty was concluded, an exhausted country entered a new world. Late in the war, American intervention (April 1917) and the Russian Revolution had had a profound impact on European events, but the full import of American and Russian involvement would only slowly become apparent. What was much easier to see, especially if one was French, was that German power, while wounded, had not been tamed.
CONCLUSION French nationalism had come a long way in the century between Valmy and Verdun. It had been made into a vehicle for the propagation of political and cultural values-what the French would call, with varying levels of enthusiasm or degrees of irony, “la mission civilisatrice de la France.” It had complemented the reinforcement and modernization of the centralized state founded by the Old Regime, renewed by the Revolution, and rationalized by Napoleon. It had fed on the ideology of popular sovereignty,which itselfcontained so many of the ambiguities illustrated by the Revolution, liberal one day and terrorist the next. As we have seen, nationalism had served both the
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left and the right. Just as importantly, it had expressed different moods. During the revolutionary period and on into the nineteenth century, French power seemed to be on an upward trajectory. Some people defined power materially, and they urged and applauded the acquisition of territory and markets. Others defined power culturally, and emphasized the universal appeal of liberty, equality, and fraternity, and the wide acceptance of French as the language of culture and refinement. All took for granted France’s continued status as a great power. The defeat of 1870 inaugurated a different mood, one obsessed with the idea of decline and as preoccupied with domestic sources of national weakness as with external threats. In this atmosphere,nationalism became “above all a movement of defense, of retreat, the huddling in on itself of a wounded body.”3*In 1874, Leon Gambetta emphasized the central importance of foreign policy and called France “a great and noble nation, defeated and discouraged”33-a sort of miracle denied, to return to the Gaullist language used in the title of this chapter. The bloodletting of 1914- 1918 produced a Pyrrhic victory, followed by a defeat in 1940, another in 1954, and another in 1962. When nationalism had been defensive, as during the Dreyfus Affair, French politics had shown a tendency to get mean. How mean would it get?To what degree was the defensiveness determined by external circumstances, and in what ways was it a product of domestic politics? To what extent could its flare-ups be neutralized by institutional safeguards (new tools for new problems) or reversed by skillful leadership?Could it be conjured away by a fundamental redefinition of solidarity, so that “lagrande amitie (“the great friendship”)-Michelet’s definition of la patrie (native land, fatherland)3*would include all of Europe?These questions would be raised again and again throughout the twentieth and on into the twenty-first century. Since the jury is still out on the last question, all the others remain open.
RECOMMENDED READING Arendt, Hannah.The Origins of Totalitarianism. Rev. ed. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1973. Becker,Jean-Jacques. 1914: Comment les Frangais sont entrt‘s dam la guerre. Paris: Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 1977. Furet, Franqois, and Denis Richer. The French Revolution. Trans. Stephen Hardman. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1970. Johnson, Martin P. The Lh-eyfvsAffair:Honour and Politics in the Belle Epoque. New York: St. Martin’s, 1999. Mayeur,Jean-Marie.L a viepolitique sous la troisihe Rt‘publique, 1870- 1940. Paris: Le Seuil, 1984. Nere, Jacques. Le boulangisme et lapresse. Paris: Armand Colin, 1964. Nora, Pierre, et al. Les l i e u de mt‘moire. 3 vols. Paris: Gallimard, 1984-1992.
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Ozouf, Mona. L'kcole de la France: Essais sur la Rkvolution, l'utopie et l'enseignement. Paris: Gallimard, 1984. Rosanvallon, Pierre. La dkmocratie inachevke:Histoire de la souverainetk du peuple en France. Paris: Gallimard, 2000. -. Le peuple introuvable: Histoire de la reprksentation dkmocratique en France. Paris: Gallimard, 1998. -. Le sacre du citoyen: Histoire du suffrage universe1 en France. Paris: Gallimard, 1992. Thabault, Roger. Education and Change in a Village Community: Mazi&resenGatine, 1848-1914. Trans. Peter Tregear. New York: Schocken Books, 1971. Weber, Eugen. Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France, 1870-1914. Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1976. -. The Nationalist Revival in France, 1905-1914. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968.
Novels Barbusse, Henri. Le Feu (Under Fire: The Story of a Squad). 1916. Barrks, Maurice. Le Roman de l'knergie nationale, a trilogy (1897-1302), especially vol. 1, Les dkradnks (1897). Flaubert, Gustave. L'Education sentimentale (SentimentalEducation). 1869. Hugo, Victor. 1793. 1874. Martin du Gard, Roger.Jean Barois. 1913. -. Les Thibault (The Thibaults). 1922-1940. Romain, Jules. Les hommes de bonne volontk (1932-1946), especially vol. 16, Verdun. Several volumes, including Verdun,are available in English translation.
Documents Bruno, G. [pseud. For Mme Alfred Fouillee] Le Tour de la Francepar deux enfants. 1878. Girardet, Raoul, ed. Le nationalismefrangais:Anthologie, 1871-1914. Paris: Le Seuil, 1983. Michelet, Jules. Lepeuple. (The People). 1846. Renan, Ernest. Qu'estce qu'une nation? 1882. Sieyks, Emmanuel. Qu'estce que le tiers Ctat? ( m a t Is the Third Estate?). 1789. TocqueviUe, Alexis de. Souvenirs (Recollections).Written in 1850-1851. Zola, lhile. L'affaire Beyfu:la vkritk en marche (Paris: Gamier-Flammarion,1969), a set of documents that includes the "J'accuse" article of 1898.
1. Charles de Gaulle, November 23, 1945: "But the trials of the awful invasion [of 19401 and the pride that came when victory was finally won, reunited . . . us all. This unity, forged in combat, was, once again, the miracle of France" [Charles de
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Gaulle, Discours et messages, vol. 1, Pendant la guewe, 1940-1946 (Paris: Plon, 1970), p. 6981. 2. Ernest Renan, “Qu’est-cequ’une nation,”originallydelivered as a lecture at the Sorbonne on March 11, 1882; excerpted in Raoul Gmrdet, ed., Le nationalisme franGais:Anthologie, 1871-1914 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1983), pp. 65-67, citation at p. 65. The contemporary German philosopher Jiirgen Habermas calls nationhood based on voluntary allegiance to a constitutional order “constitutionalpatriotism.” 3. Whenever possible, I have tried to leave expressions essential to the country’s political vocabulary in the original French, while also providing an English translation. 4. Irnmanuel Kant, “An Answer to the Question: ‘What Is Enlightenment?’” in Hans Reiss, ed., Kant’s Political Writings,trans. H. B. Nisbet (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1970), p. 54. “Immaturity,”Kant continues, “is the inability to use one’s own understanding without the guidance of another.” 5. See Bernard Bailyn, The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1%7). 6. For an introduction to these critical events, see R. R. Palmer, Twelve who Ruled: The Year of the Tewor in the French Revolution (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1988). 7. The ca ira was first sung in 1790 and quickly became the favorite song of the socially less privileged and politically more militant elements of the revolutionary movement. It was set to a familiardance tune. The lyrics were by a popular singer named Ladre but varied from place to place and as the mood of the Revolution changed. The tone of the well-known verse reproduced here is hard to capture in English. The words mean: “Ah, all will be well [Benjamin Franklin had used the French expression to convey his optimism about the prospects of the American Revolution], all will be well, all will be well/The aristocrats,we’ll string them up/Despotism wilI breathe its last/Liberty will triumph/Ah, all will be well”The mood conveyed is simultaneously jovial and menacing. 8. Jules Ferry, June 6, 1889, cited in Jean-Marie Mayeur, La question lai’que, X X e - X X e siGcle (Paris: Fayard, 1997), p. 46. 9. Lkon Gambetta, SaintQuentin, November 16, 1871, in Joseph Reinach, ed., Discours et plaidoyers politiques de M. Gambetta, vol. 2, part 2 (February 19, 1871-July 24, 1872) (Paris: G. Charpentier, 188l), p. 176. 10. Gambetta, November 16, 1871, in Reinach, ed., Discours etplaidoyers politiques de M. Gambetta, vol. 2, part 2, p. 176. 1 1 . Gambetta, November 16, 1871, in Joseph Reinach, ed., Discours etplaidoyers politiques de M. Gambetta, vol. 2, part 2, p. 178. 12. Jules Ferry, Chamber of Deputies, June 3, 1876, in Pierre Barral, ed., Les Fondateurs de la TroisiGme Rtipublique (Paris: Armand Colin, 1968), p. 173. 13. Lkon Gambetta, Chamber of Deputies, May 4, 1877, in Barral, ed., Les Fondateurs de la TroisiGme Rtipublique, p. 176. 14. The decentralization law of March 2, 1982 did away with the title. We will consider what happened to the role later. Theprtifets missed their old title and got it back in 1986. 15. Jules Michelet, cited in Girardet, ed., Le nationalisme franGais: Anthologie, 1871-1914, p. 13. 16. Maurice Agulhon, 1848 ou l’apprentissage de la rtipublique, 1848-1852 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1973), p. 69.
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17. Agulhon, 1848 ou l’apprentissagede la r&publique,1848-1852, p. 73. 18. Alain Plessis, De la fgte imp6riale au mur des f6d&ds, 1852-1871 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1973), p. 134. 19. “The great questions of the day will not be settled by speeches and majority decisions,”Bismarck said in 1862, “but by blood and iron.”Cited in Otto Pflanze, Bkimarck and the Development of Germany, vol. 1, The Period of Un.@cation, 1815-1871 (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1990), p. 184. 20. See casualty estimates in Jean-PierreAzema and Michel Winock, Les Communards (Paris: Le Seuil, 1964), p. 165. Grard Noiriel compares casualties from the repression of the Commune to casualties of the Terror; see Noiriel, Les ouvriers duns la soci6t6franGaise, X I X e - X X e siMe (Paris: Le Seuil, 1986), p. 119. 21. Thiers, as articulate and talented as he was ambitious, was a key figure in French politics from the early years of the Restoration through the crucial first years of the Third Republic. His basic political allegiances were Orleanist; as he told the National Assembly on June 8, 1871, “AlI my life, I have reflected on the type of government my country might desire, and if I had the power that no mortal has ever p o s sessed,I would have given my country what, to the best of my abilities,I have worked without success for forty years to achieve: constitutionalmonarchy as exemplified by England!” [text of speech in Dkscoursparlementaires de M. Thiers, ed. M. Calmon, vol. 13 (Paris: Calmann Evy, 1882), citation at p. 3171. Disappointed by the Restoration and the July Monarchy and opposed to the Second Empire (although he had voted for Bonaparte in 1849),Thiers was usually at his most impressivewhen in opposition. In 1871, he was elected to the National Assembly and became president of what was not yet the Third Republic; while the Assembly deferred the issue of what form the new regime would take, Thiers crushed the Commune and made peace with the Prussians. By November 1872,he had concluded that only a republic could provide France the stabilityit so desperatelyneeded; his ovemding concernswere stabilityand order, and so he urged the Assembly to consolidate a republic. His remark that the republic had become the least divisive solution to France’sconstitutionalquarrels is quoted so frequently that precise attribution has become unnecessary. Thiers laid out the case for a republic in a key message delivered to the Assembly on November 13, 1872; it is here that he warned republicans that the republic would have to be conservative in order to survive [see Discoursparlementaires de M. Thiers, ed. M. Calmon, vol. 15 (Paris: Calmann Evy, 1883), p. 281, but the theme recurs constantly in his speeches. In speech after speech prior to his resignation on May 24,1873, Thiers sought to convince his monarchist friends to bow to the inevitable and support a republic: “you yourselves know,”he exclaimed before the parliamentaryvote that prompted his r e s ignation, “that the monarchy is a practical impossibility.I need not remind you of the reason, since alI of you are aware of it: there is only one throne, and three people cannot sit on it!” [May 24, 1873,Discoursparlementairesde M. Thiers, ed. M. Calmon, vol. 15 (Paris:Calmann Evy, 1883), p. 2071. Thiers died in September 1877, during what would prove the decisive showdown between monarchists and republicans. 22. Text in Emile Zola, L’affaireDreyfus: la v6rit6 en marcbe (Paris: Gatnier-Flammarion, 1969), pp. 111-124. The article appeared in the Paris paper L’Aurore. 23. Raymond Poincare, addressing a joint session of parliament, February 20,1913, cited in Jean-MarieMayeur,La viepolitique sous la Trokihe R6publique, 1870- 1940 (Paris: Le Seuil, 19&1), p. 229.
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24. Raymond P o i n d , addressinga joint session of parliament,August 4,1914, cited in Mayeur, La vlepolitique sous la Troisihe Rkpublique, 1870-1940, p. 235 n. 1. 25. La Revue du c l q k franqais, August 15, 1914, cited in Jean-JacquesBecker, La France en guewe, 1914-1918: la grande mutation (Paris: Editions Complexe, l988), p. 44. 26. Jaures is more fuuy discussed in chapter 5. 27. LkonJouhaux,August 4,1914, cited in Becker,La France e n g m e , 1914-1918, p. 29. 28. Philippe Bernard,Lafin d u n monde, 1914-1929 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1975), p. 83. 29. Bernard, Lafin d u n monde, 1914-1929, p. 84. 30. Charles de Gaulle, Mkmoires de guerre, vol. 1, L’appel, 1940-1942 (Paris: Plon, 1954), p. 1. No translation can hope to do justice to this text. All my life, I have harbored a certain idea of France. My heart inspires it; so too does reason. My affective faculties naturally imagine France destined for an eminent and excep tional role, like the princess in a fairy tale or the madonna of church frescoes. J3y instinct, I feel that Providence has created France for perfect successes or exemplary failures. Whenever mediocrity incongruously marks her acts, I have the feeling of an absurd anomaly, explicableby the misdeeds of the French, not by the distinctive character of our native land. But at the same time, the more rational side of my mind convinces me that France is not really herself when she is not a major world player; that only great projects can compensate for the seeds of dispersion that lie within her people; that our country, given what it is, among other countries, given what they are, must, on pain of mortal danger, aim high and stand tall. In sum, as I see it, only in greatness can France be France.
31. Charles de Gaulle, M6moires deguerre, vol. 2, L’unit6, 1942-1944 (Paris: Plon, 1956), p. 313. With each step that I take on the most illustrious artery in the world, it seems to me that past glories combine with the glory of today. Under the Arc, in our honor, the flame leaps joyfully. This avenue, down which the triumphant army paraded twenty-five years ago, seems radiant before us. On his pedestal, Clemenceau,whom I salute as I pass, seems ready to bound to our side. The chestnut trees of the ChampsElysCes, of which the imprisoned Aiglon [Napoleon’sson, 1810-1832, officiallyknownas the duc de Reichstadt]dreamed and which witnessed, through so many ages, the display of French grace and prestige, offer viewing-poststo thousands of spectators. The Tuileries, which provided the setting for the majesty of the State under two emperors and two monarchies, the Concorde and the Carrousel which watched the wild expressionsof revolutionaryenthusiasm and the reviews of victorious regiments; the streets and bridges named for battles won; on the other bank of the Seine, the Invalides, its dome sparklingstill with the splendor of the Sun King, the tomb of Turenne [a seventeenth century military hero], of Napoleon, of Foch [army marshal credited with the victory in World War I]; the Institute, honored by so many illustrious minds, all are benevolent witnesses to the human river passing by. And there, in their turn:the Louvre, where the succession of kings succeeded in constructingFrance; in their place the statues of Joan of Arc and Henry IV;the palace of Saint Louis, whose feast-day happened to be yesterday; Notre-Dame, the prayer of Paris, and the CitC, its cradle: all join in the event. It is as though History, gathered together in these stones and in these squares, smiles at us.
32. Raoul Girardet, in Girardet, ed., Le nationalisme franqais: Antbologie, 1871-1914, p. 18.
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33. Lkon Gambetta, in a letter to Arthur Ranc, December 24,1874,cited in Jean-Marie Mayeur, Les &buts uk la IZIe Rtspublique, 1871-1898 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1973),p. 101. 34. Jules Michelet, Lepeuple (1846) (Paris: Flammarion, 1974), p. 199. The word patrie has an emotional charge that is hard to render in contemporary English. A patrie is a living thing: something one loves, identifies with, and sacrifices for.
CHAPTER 2
World War I1 and Its Legacies The ten years that preceded the Liberation of 1944-1945 were in many ways as dramatic-and almost as divisive-as had been the revolutionary decade a century and a half before. In 1934, many people feared the Republic would be overthrown by a right-wing coup. In 1944-1945, Resistance and Allied troops put German forces and their collaborationist henchmen to fight. The events of the intervening decade, which included the left-wing Popular Front government as well as the German Occupation, raised central questions about the nature of the state and the meaning of citizenship. Contentious at the time, these questions remained divisive, and as the answers changed, so too did perceptions and judgments of commitments made between 1934 and 1945.The recurring public arguments about Vichy, the Resistance,and the actions of specific individuals were not historians’ debates.’ They were important political skirmishes, and they became especially frequent during the 1990s because such consensual understandings of the state and citizenship as had existed were challenged by social change, economic crisis, and globalization.Men and women who had lived through the war often complained that younger people were playing fast and loose with a history they had neither lived nor learned and consciously or unconsciously misconstruing the meaning of difficult choices that had been made in a very particular historical context. To the extent that postwar generations did indeed revisit wartime choices in order to advance their own agendas and to demarcatetheir political world, the debates that resulted are indicative of important changes in French politics and culture. Evaluating debates about the war does require a history lesson, and that is where we shall start.
FRANCE, 193!+1945
‘Strange Defeat”2 The Armistice of 1918 did not make the world safe for democracy, nor did it bring peace, prosperity, or stabilityto the continent on which the war had been 45
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fought. In Germany, the terms of the Versailles Treaty inadvertently encouraged the revival of German militarism while doing little to promote a democratic domestic settlement. Even before the onset of the Great Depression, the domesticand internationalchallengesfacing France’sdividedpolity multiplied. Mussolini seized power in Italy in 1922, and by 1926, he had consolidated the first fascist state. In 1929, the American stock market crashed the Depression followed. By 1930, it was clear that democracy had failed in Germany; in January 1933, Hitler took power. In 1936, a renegade general named Francisco Franco took up arms against the fledghg Spanish Republic, initiating a bloody civil war that was in many ways a rehearsal for the world war that began in Sep tember 1939, when Germany struck Poland. In June 1940, France suffered a stunning military defeat. The defeat of 1940 was so sudden and unexpected-and so radical-that contemporariesimmediatelysaw fault rather than error as its cause. Their conclusions reflected the polarized character that politics had assumed during the 1930s and recalled the verbal civil war of the Dreyfus Affair. The new government in Vichy pointed an accusatory finger at the moral, social, and political “disorder”symbolized by the Popular Front government of 1936-1937, and in February 1942, the authorities put Lkon Blum (prime minister in 1936-1937), fidouard Daladier (prime minister after Blum, and defense minister from 1936 to 1940), and General Maurice Gamelin (commanding general of the army from 1935 to 1940) on public trial at Riom. Two months later, Vichy was forced to abort the court proceedings, which had occasioned a spirited defense of the Republic by the accused. For its part, the left--first in the Resistance, and then after the war-blamed the defeat on its conservative adversaries,whose economic greed and ideological hostility to the Republic had allegedlysapped the legitimacyof the regime and undermined the nation’s sense of solidarity. Errors alone cannot explain France’s defeat, but the relationship between the country’spolitical divisions and the disastrously inadequate military strategy it adopted during the interwar years is a complicated one. Hitler’srise to power should have triggered a nationalist response across the spectrum of French opinion, similar to the union sawbe of 1914. Military expansionism was central to Nazi ideology, and almost immediately upon taking power, the Nazis began preparing the country for war. The Versailles Treaty, with its clause holding Germany alone responsible for having caused the war, found few defenders in Germany. To many Germans (including many non-Nazis), an assertive foreign policy seemed part of the solution to the problems that had beset their country during the interwar years. The Nazis quickly silenced other views. The French read the writing on the wall, but for domestic reasons (and because the British were not interested in another confrontation with the Germans), the only response around which they could unite was a policy of avoid-
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ing war. Given Nazi aims, this was hardly an adequate strategy. Put another way, after 1933, a realistic response to what was happening in Germany was not realistic politically in France. Rearmament found few supporters in the 1930s. No one wanted war; people remembered too vividly the horrors and futility of the one they had just survived. But there was more to the story than battle fatigue-powerful though that sentiment was. Disagreementsover rearmament and foreign policy divided left from right, but also divided the left and the right internally. In 1914, the left had gone to war against German militarism and the right had gone to war against Germans. In the 1930s, the left should have been particularly sensitive to the threat posed by fascist takeovers in Italy and Germany. Instead, disappointment with the results (domestic and international) of World War I reinforced the pacifist faction within the socialist party (SFIO), while the Communist Party (PCF) followed whatever line communist leaders in Moscow decreed. Socialists who did favor rearmament had to defend themselves against conservative charges that they were motivated by opposition to fascism as a form of government and not by a more limited concern for French security. The right, which normally might have championed military preparedness against an expansionary Germany, was split between nationalists who did indeed demand rearmament and reactionaries who found their enthusiasm for rearmament blunted by the ideological affinities they felt for the new dictatorshipson France’s borders. Polarization and fragmentation were accentuated by the Popular Front episode of the mid-1930s. In the early 1930s, right-wing street agitation had increased. The antirepublican energies of the right were reactivated by governmental paralysis and economic anxieties. Right-wing organizations like Charles Maurras’sinfluentialand supposedly royalist group (and newspaper), I’ActionfranGaise, conservative veterans’ groups like the Croix de feu, and right-wing thugs like those who belonged to la Cagoule tapped into the bonapartist tradition, whose strength lay in its capacity to express disappointed nationalism, political anger, and social resentment. On February 6, 1934, an apparently insurrectionary crowd threatened to storm the Chamber of Deputies (touspourris . . .). In response, a heterogeneous coalition extending from the political center through the PCF came together in an antifascist “PopularFront” to defend the Republic. In the parliamentary elections of April 26 and May 3,1936, the Popular Front coalition won a majority of seats in the Chamber. The SFIO was the strongest party. Its leader, IRon Blum, became prime minister. Blum was the bCte noire of the old antidreyfusard right. Dreyfus was a Jew, but at least he was an officer. Blum was not only a Jew, but also a left-wing intellectual and a socialist. The right loathed him.Charles Maurras reviled him as a subhuman traitor, a “naturalized German Jew, or son of one,” “a monstrous creation of the democratic Republic,”someone who “shouldbe shot, but in the back.”3 On the specific question of rearmament, Maurras reiterated his demand that
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Blum and his political allies-“the assassins of peace”-be eliminated. Since “goodcitizens”did not control the guillotine, Maurras urged the use of alternative weapons: “an automatic pistol, a revolver, or even a kitchen knife.”* In the immediate aftermath of the Popular Front elections, wildcat strikes shut down factories across France. Striking workers occupied their factories, sometimes sequestering owners and managers. The government negotiated a settlement in earlyJune (the so-called Matignon Accords), but the strikes exacerbated the hysteria of the right. Just as seriously, they frightened the more centrist elements of the Popular Front coalition (people who, rather like Clemenceau, were for the Republic but opposed to socialism). When the Spanish Civil War began in mid-July, the Blum government was already politically beleaguered and too divided to risk military intervention on behalf of the embattled Spanish republicans. Intervention was particularly unpopular among French Catholics, since the Spanish republicans were allied with the communists and often virulently anticlerical. A promising moment to teach European fascists a lesson passed. In February 1937, Blum also declared a pause in the government’sprogram of domestic reform. The purportedly temporary pause soon looked permanent. When Blum’s team was replaced by a more centrist cabinet in January 1938, the left had good reason to feel bitter. France’sexternal posture was largely a function of its internal divisions.The policy of appeasement was already in place by the mid-1930s.While the Germans mechanized their army, remilitarized the Rhineland (March 1936), tested new weapons and tactics in the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939), marched into Austria unopposed (March 1938), and threatened the young Czech Republic, the French failed to take decisive action. They fortified the defensive Maginot line and neglected their offensive capabilities.A British prime minister went on radio and spoke words that would damn him in the eyes of history: “How horrible, fantastic, incredible, it is,”Neville Chamberlain declared before leaving for the fateful summit meeting in Munich, “that we should be digging trenches and trying on gas-maskshere because of a quarrel in a faraway country between people of whom we know nothing.”5At the Munich talks, Hitler blackmailed the western democracies into abandoning the Czech Republic (September 29-30, 1938). One year later, having secured the neutrality of the Soviet Union (August 23, 1939), Hitler invaded Poland (September 1). France and England, bound to Poland by treaty obligations,declared war on Germany (September 3), but by the end of the month, Polish resistance had collapsed. The Russians invaded Finland and the Germansinvaded Norway and Denmark, but the western front remained tensely quiet. Then on May 10, 1940, the socalled phony war suddenly became a shooting war. The Allies had anticipated an attack through the Low Countries. That attack came, but its primary purpose was diversionary: the main German advance came instead to the south, through the lightly defended Ardennes forest. Within weeks, a great power lay prostrate. French troops had sustained
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high casualties: 92,000 killed, 200,000 wounded.6 But tenacity in the field could not overcome the incompetence of the French high command, which now paid the price for its earlier failure to grasp the military significance of technological change. Meanwhile, the political leadership of the country was paralyzed. Paul Reynaud, who had taken over as prime minister on March 20, wanted to continue the fight. General Maxime Weygand, however, who had relieved Gamelin as commander of France’s military forces a week after the German assault began, was convinced that the war was lost. He was looking for a way out. Marshal Philippe Petain, the now octogenarian World War I hero who had become minister of war in March, shared Weygand’sopinion. On June 17,1940, a brigadier general, who fifteen years earlier had served on Petain’sstaff and who had pleaded throughout the 1930s for tank units of the sort that Hitler was equipping, embarked for England. The next evening, using the facilities of the BBC, he urged a global perspective on his deeply insular and politically self-absorbed country. “France,”Charles de Gaulle told his compatriots, is not alone. . . This war is not limited to the unfortunate territory of our country. This war has not been decided by the battle of France. This war is a world war. All the errors, all the lapses, all the suffering do not change the fact that there are in the universe all the means needed to crush our enemies. . . .Whatever hap pens,the flame of French resistance must not go out and will not go out.’
Back in France, few heard the speech. Somewherebetween six and ten million people-about a fifth of the population-were on the roads? fleeing the German advance (and inadvertently hindering the movement of French troops); nearly two million men were or would soon be prisoners of war. British resistance also seemed to have reached the end of the line. Franqois Mauriac, a Catholic writer who, despite his conservative background, had taken Hitler’s measure earlier than most people and had sided with the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War, now saw little room for maneuver: “Tr& beau,” he said of de Gaulle’s call to arms, “but irrelevant.”9 On June 22, representatives of the French government accepted German terms for an armistice. The document was signed at Rethondes, in the same railroad car in which the Germans had accepted defeat in 1918. The Reich annexed Alsace and Lorraine and occupied what was defined as the northern zone, which included the strategically vital Atlantic coast and the northern (and economically more developed, more densely populated) half of the country. The Germans granted the Vichy government administrativeauthority over both the northern and southern zones; the latter was unoccupied until the Allies invaded Morocco and Algeria in November 1942. Occupation costs were assessed to the French, at a disadvantageousexchange rate. The Germans agreed not to garrison the French Empire, and Vichy retained a small army and the fleet (which the British promptly took the precaution of bom-
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barding as it lay at anchor on July 3, 1940, in the Algerian port of Mers elKebir-a move that caused considerable consternation in French public opinion). It was assumed that a peace treaty would replace the armistice agreement as soon as the British were defeated-an event that the French negotiators expected would not be long in coming.
Vichy On July 10,1940,what was left of the Chamber of Deputies voted fullpowers (including constituent powers) to Marshal Pttain. The Republic was over, replaced by what was officially known simply as I‘Etat franGaais, the French state. Petain immediately used his constituent authority to arrogate to himself executive and legislative power, as well as the right to name his own successor. Civil servants would henceforth swear loyalty to his person. The Chamber had blindly handed over its powers to Petain, and Petain had forthwith used the power accorded him to execute what was in effect a coup d’etat. France’s new leader assured his compatriots that he, in contrast to de Gaulle, would remain with them in their time of difficulty. He offered them, as he said, “the gift of [his] person to attenuate their misfortune.”lOHe also warned them that only a “nationalrevolution” could root out the self-indulgence and moral decay that had, he claimed, brought disaster upon the country. “Travail, famille, patrie” (“work, family, fatherland”) replaced “liberty, equality, fraternity”on public buildings. Crucifixes reappeared on classroom walls. In the place of free, competitive elections, the regime sought to create consultativebodies staffed by appointed nominees. Communistshad been on the run since the Nazi-Soviet pact of 1939;now Free Masons and Jews were also hounded out of the civil service. Initially, most people found Pitain’s paternal presence reassuring, and almost everyone agreed that profound reforms of some sort were necessary. In the months immediately following the defeat, Vichy attracted a broad but heterogeneous and fragile base of support, at both the elite and the popular level. Over the next four years, from the summer of the defeat to the summer of the Liberation, the regime would go through several phases, marked by different political orientations and different degrees of popular support. The men who contended for power under the umbrella the regime provided were diverse in their backgrounds, motives, and goals. They shared a willingness to use the new balance of power created by the defeat to continue the familiar game of settling political accounts, and they all contributed to the atmosphere of self-incriminationthat helped keep the country passive. Over time, the regime’s base of support would steadily contract and its repressive tendencies would become more pronounced. From beginning to end, two men played central roles in the regime. Marshal Petain (1856- 1951) was indispensable:whatever popularity the regime
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enjoyed was largely explained by his presence. Petain was not simply a national military hero, credited with the World War I victory at Verdun and remembered for his reluctance to send men needlessly to their deaths (“gunfire kills,”he reminded his colleagues). His authoritarianism answered the prayers of the segment of French opinion-conservative, Catholic, middle or upper class-profoundly traumatized by the sit-down strikes of 1936 and the Popular Front victory that had brought the left to power at precisely the moment when the stability of the social status quo, under pressure from the Depression, most urgently required state support. Petain believed in social harmony based on order, hierarchy, and obedience. He abhorred the kind of political mobilization that fascist regimes sponsored; indeed, had it been pos sible to do so, he would have done away with all the visible signs of political life. Vain, old, and unwilling to relinquish power, Petain would miss several opportunities to recover his lost honor. Pierre Laval (1883-1945) was one of the less attractive-though by no means the most reactionary-political products of the Third Republic. A selfmade man who attended to his constituents and carried little ideological baggage, Laval was prime minister throughout 1931 and again from June 1935 to January 1936. He was also foreign minister from October 1934 to January 1936, and undeterred by evidence to the contrary, fancied himself a clever international negotiator. He lost his seat in the Popular Front elections of May-June 1936. Cynical, arrogant, manipulative, and unscrupulous, by 1940 he was also embittered. Laval was instrumental in securing the votes by which the Republic committed suicide. He was promptly rewarded: on July 12, Petain named Laval as his eventual successor.Laval served as Petain’shead of government from July until December 13. The public identified him with the government’spolicy of collaboration with the Germans, symbolized by a meeting between Petain and Hitler in the village of Montoire toward the end of October. On December 13, Laval was arrested in a palace coup-not because Petain was having second thoughts about collaboration with the Germans, but because he feared that Laval’s unpopularity was rubbing off on him, and worse, that Laval wanted all power for himself. The Germans obtained Laval’s release. In April 1942, Laval returned to power. He remained there until the Liberation. His subsequent trial was a sham, but his sentence (death) was well earned. Many officials, prominent and obscure, distanced themselves from Vichy as the tides of war changed and as the regime grew more repressive and more clearly subordinate to the Germans. This was true, for example, of General Weygand and Admiral Franqois Darlan. Weygand had been on the side of the defeatists in June 1940; Darlan shared the Anglophobia common to most French naval officers. But neither was prepared to surrender France’sempire to the Germans, and so both shifted course in November 1942. Many state officials acted in apparently contradictoryways: thus Rene Bouquet, Vichy’s
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head of police from April 1942 to December 1943,also served the Resistance. Many technocrats whose projects had been blocked by the Byzantine politics of the Third Republic remained at their desks through the war, developing policies that would later be continued by the Fourth and Fifth Republics. Conservative though it was, the Vichy establishment never satisfied the most radical elements of the French right. Some, like Marcel Deat (a former socialist), Jacques Doriot (a former communist leader), and Joseph Darnand (a former member of the most virulently antirepublican right-wing organizations), pleaded for the formation of a single, fascist-style party (which each hoped to lead); they were particularly active in occupied Paris and kept up a constant barrage of criticism against Vichy’salleged moderation. Others, like Xavier Vallat (1891- 1972) and Louis Darquier de Pellepoix (1897- 1980), successively commissioners-general for Jewish affairs at Vichy, exploited the opportunity to act on longstanding antisemitic prejudices. No one stopped them, but the priorities of the regime were antirepublican,not antisemitic.
Tbe Resistance The Resistance was as varied in its personnel, motives, and goals as was Vichy, and it too changed significantly over time. For much of the war, it was “but a chaos of courage.”ll Passive opposition to the Vichy regime, and especially to its policy of collaboration,was widespread (despite continuing respect for Petain) and probably represented a majority position by the summer of 1941. * 2 Active resistance entailed writing and distributing tracts and underground newspapers hostile to the Occupation, passing military intelligence along to the Allies, forging identity papers or providing protection to threatened individuals (political dissidents, Jews, downed Allied airmen), refusing compulsory work service in Germany (Service du travail oblfgatofre, STO), or participation in sabotage and other military operations. It remained to the end a minority commitment. Those who made it risked torture, deportation, and death. It was generally an individual choice, but it was rarely a fully random choice. People with certain kinds of ideological convictions-Christian democrats, socialists, communists, antiGerman nationalists-made good candidates for the Resistance. Interest also played a role. Young men facing labor conscription had no risk-free option: they could go to work in Germany or go underground. Many made the latter choice, but absent the threat of conscription, they might have tried simply to wait out the war, as did most of the population. Finally, not all people had equal opportunities to engage in overt resistance. Resistance groups obviously did not advertise meeting times in the local papers, and the desire to recruit often conflicted with the need to maintain secrecy. Assuming equal motivation, commitment patterns differed according to where an individual lived, figuratively (i.e., socially and politically) and literally. And young people, rel-
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atively unencumbered by family and professional responsibilities, were more likely to be risk takers than were their seniors. From the beginning, the Resistance comprised many groups and operated in two quite different theaters: abroad and at home. De Gaulle’s Free French, based first in London and then in Algiers, initially privileged action outside metropolitan France. De Gaulle had immediately understood the war to be a planetary conflict. If France dropped out, it would cease to exist as an independent state, even if individual Frenchmen continued the fight by enlisting in Britain’s armed forces. De Gaulle ceaselessly emphasized the importance of the state, and he organized the Free French to press France’snational interests militarily and diplomatically in the context of a world war. Somehow, he had to make his small band of followers look like a government-in-exile and his few units like an army. Given the dearth of volunteers, the movement’s material dependence on British support, and relatively consistent American hostility, this was no easy task. De Gaulle pursued his goal with single-minded stubbornness and consummate political skill, and he achieved it in large part because of the unity he was able to forge between the Free French and the domestic Resistance.13 His indispensable ally was a former prefect, Jean Moulin, who parachuted into Provence on January 2, 1942. One month before his capture by the Germans, Moulin succeeded in gathering together sixteen Resistance leaders. They represented Resistance groups from both zones, northern and southern, as well as sympathetic political parties and trade unions. The men met on May 27, 1943, in occupied Paris, in an apartment in the Latin Quarter, under the noses of their enemies. The group would become known as the Conseil National de la Rksistance (CNR)-a sort of makeshift parliament for a country muzzled by a foreign occupation and an illegitimate dictatorship. The CNR recognized de Gaulle as head of the provisional government, and it was in that capacity that de Gaulle, who never wore anything but the barest indications of rank on his uniform, would return to liberated Paris on August 25,1944. The domestic Resistance itself operated in two different settings,the northern and southern zones. It went through three partially overlapping phases, defined by the receding fortunes of the German war machine and the evolution of public opinion in France. From the summer of 1940 to the winter of 1942-1943, the chances of an outright Allied victory seemed slim. Indeed, for several months after the French defeat, Germany seemed on the brink of total victory. In this context, resistance was a truly exceptional response. Often isolated from each other and from the outside world-the first radio transmitters arrived, via Spain, in January 1941; the first Lysander landed on a clandestine airstrip in September 1941 -resistance groups developed their own organizations and political positions. Some (“networks”)concentrated on transmitting military intelligence and smugglmg Allied pilots to safety. Others (“movements”)fought for
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the hearts and minds of the population with whatever weapons they could muster: clandestine newspapers, tracts, graffiti [as when a royalist turned rbsistunt scrawled “Je n’aurais pas collabore” (“I would not have collaborated”) on an equestrian statue of Louis XN in Montpellier141. Groups and leaders ideologically opposed to the Nazi project tended also to reject Petain’s regime; groups and leaders motivated primarily by anti-German nationalist reflexes often maintained ties to people in the Vichy government and expressed sympathy for the goals (but not the circumstances) of Petain’s “nationalrevolution.” Developments during 1941 gradually turned the tide of the war. Against all expectations, Britain held fast, as the Royal Air Force and bad weather dissuaded Hitler from mounting a cross-Channel invasion. On June 2 2 , 1941, Germany instead struck the Soviet Union, hoping to achieve victory before winter. With the socialist fatherland under attack, communist organizations outside the Soviet Union, among them the French Communist Party, lost little time in throwing their support to the antiGerman resistance. On December 7, 1941, the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbor finally brought the United States into the war. By late 1942, the Allies had invaded North Africa and the Germans were bogged down in Russia. France was fully occupied, the German stranglehold on French resources (including labor) was becoming more and more onerous, and the Vichy regime was becoming increasingly repressive. A German victory now seemed as uncertain as it had seemed inevitable two years earlier. A second phase of the Resistance began toward the end of 1942 and concluded in the fall of 1943. As their prospects for achieving final victory dimmed, the Nazis and their French allies became more vicious and more exigent toward the population: food rations dropped, the persecution of Jews became more obvious and more lethal, special units sought out rbsistunts, often torturing or killing those they captured, and the creation of the STO in early September 1942 accelerated the alienation of an already wary population. Thousands of young men headed for the underground, or rnuquis, providing the Resistance movements with foot soldiers. This period marked the unification, politicization, and militarization of the Resistance. Moulin’s mission was the most significant effort to umfy the Resistance, but cooperative ties among groups were also created independent of de Gaulle’sdirectives. The politicization of the Resistance-the reemergence of prewar parties as important players, the awareness that the PCF might well sabotage the reestablishment of democratic liberties, the long power struggle between General de Gaulle and General Henri Giraud-was a sure sign that the Liberation was on the horizon, and with it, the return of everyday politics. Likewise, the expectation of impending AUied landings and the increasing numbers of young men in the underground encouraged the militarization of movements that had previously focused on propaganda.
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By early 1944, the defeat of Germany and the Liberation of the continent seemed only a matter of time-though the time they took would of course be paid for in blood and suffering. The Resistance entered its final phase. In March, the CNR published a program outlining the government’sgoals for the Liberation and post-Liberation period. In metropolitan France, German troops and the units loyal to Vichy moved to crush local insurrections and concentrationsof Resistance troops. Civilian populationswere not spared: on June 9 , SS troops hanged ninety-ninepeople in Tulle, which Resistance fighters had too briefly liberated on the 7th; on the lo*, SS troops massacred the population of Oradour-sur-Glane,shooting the men and burning the women and children in the local church. Merciless battles were fought in the Glikres (March) and the Vercors (July). But on August 25, Paris was liberated by an insurrectionand by the troops and tanks of General Leclerc’sfabled 2 e m e Division blindbe (or 2“e DB, 2nd Armored Division). From a balcony of the HBtel de Ville, Charles de Gaulle summarized what would become the orthodox account of France’swartime stance: Why should we conceal the emotion that holds us alI in its grip?Paris! Paris vielated! Paris broken! Paris martyred! But Paris liberated! Liberated by herself, liberated by her people with the help of France’sarmies, with the support and the help of all of France, of the France that fights, of the only France, of true France, of eternal France.15
As quickly as the country could be liberated, the Provisional Government established its authority, foiling American plans to govern France as an occupied country.
“VICHY, A PAST THAT STAYED”16 The defeat of 1940 and the resulting occupation of the country reshuffled the political deck in France, submerging republican elites and institutions and catapulting formerly marginalized dissident individuals and groups into positions of power and influence.People who for years had execrated the Republic-for its alleged impotence and apparent instability, for its hostility to the Catholic Church, for its promise (however imperfectly fulfilled) of human equality and its inclusiveness-accepted the political opportunity their country’s military defeat had created for them. In doing so, they underestimated the differences between their own fundamentally conservative values and the revolutionary goals of their Nazi masters. At the same time, they overestimated their margin of maneuver, stubbornly reinterpreting moves made in a remotely perceived global drama in terms of the Franco-French struggle that defined their world. The continuing relevance of the wartime decade-from the antiregime agitation of 1934 through the constitutional debates and coalitional hesitations of
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the mid- to late-1940s-appears in three episodes that marked public life half a century after the Liberation of 1944- 1945.In the 1990s,a public debate over whether or not the Republic owed Jews an apology reopened the question of the relationship between the “FrenchState” of 1940-1944 and the republics that preceded and followed it (the Third and the Fourth). A concurrent controversy over President Franqois Mitterrand’s Resistance credentials compelled a confrontation with the complex and often ambivalent choices people had made during the Occupation. Finally, at the close of the millennium, the trial of a former Vichy official, Maurice Papon, posed the problem of whether and how to hold politicians and civil servants responsible for failing to stand by republican values after the Republic had been defeated.
What Kind of State Was the “FrenchState”? In the 1930s, the more radical elements of the French right shunned party and parliamentary politics. Instead, they organized extraparliamentary ligues and exploited the propaganda potential of friendly intellectuals (Charles Maurras, Robert Brasillach, Pierre Drieu la Rochelle) and of a particularly venomous partisan press. The Zigues specialized in noisy and sometimes violent street demonstrations in Paris. To the left-which in the polarized atmosphere of the 1930s included all those prepared to defend the Republic-the Zigues seemed similar to “fascist”movements in neighboring countries. The Vichy regime, staffed and supported by people who had sympathized with the Zigues and owing its survival to its readiness to collaborate with the Nazis, was often classified as fascist by its opponents. Political scientists generally contest this amalgamation.Nazism was defined by its use of a single mass party and the radical extension of state power, its destruction of traditional elites, its mobilization of an industrial economy for the purposes of worldwide domination, and its racialized view of political conflict. The French right, in contrast, loathed parties in general and the mass mobilization associated with single parties in particular. It sought to take power away from “artificial”(elected) political elites and return it to traditional social authorities (fathers, priests, property holders). It longed to perpetuate the stability and conservatismof France’srural, small-towneconomy. Unlike Germany, France had a long democratic tradition, and it was within the context of that tradition that the right understood political conflict. Its primary quarrel was not with a race, but with a political system: the republic. Despite these differences, the Vichy regime and the Nazis had a number of enemies in common-even if the enmities rested on different arguments and suggested different resolutions (exclusion in the French case, extermination in the German case). The common enemies included communists, socialists, Free Masons, simple democrats, Christians for whom faith was something more than a social habit, and Jews. The Nazis had a “solution”to the problem
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posed by the presence of such people: under the Third Reich, the German landscape was dotted with concentration camps, whose prisoners were often exploited as slave laborers. The regime also organized extermination camps, along with traveling death squads. Their purpose was to kill Jews, gypsies, and other “undesirables.”Most of the killing took place during the war, but political and racial persecution began as soon as the Nazis took power. As persecution within Germany increased and German strength became more menacing, many of those most directly threatened (political dissidents and Jews) sought refuge in France. After France’s defeat, the Vichy government withdrew the protection that had been extended to European anti-Nazis-Spanish republicans, German socialists, Czech patriots-on French territory. Cinema buffs will recognize these developments; they form the backdrop to the movie Casablanca. In real life, they spelled disaster for those involved. Individuals who could not get out of France went into hiding; those who were captured faced deportation and often death. ForeignJews-of whom there were some 150,000(about half the total Jewish population)-were easy targets. As their numbers had swelled and their demographic profile had changed in the 1930s, they had become increasingly unwelcome even under the Republic.” Vichy, genericallyxenophobic as well as antisemitic,was anxious to be rid of them, and the Germans were increasingly eager to deport them. Even French Jews quickly discovered that citizenship would no longer protect them against homegrown persecution. Within months of the defeat, the Vichy government adopted discriminatorylegislation. Jews, like other targets of the regime’shostility, were associated with republicanism and cosmopolitanism,both of which Vichy proposed to root out as part of its “national revolution.” But whereas Protestants, Free Masons, and even communists could shed the classification that made them enemies in Vichy’s eyes,Jews could not. Laws and decrees promulgated in the summer and early fall of 1940 stripped naturalized citizens, and especially Jews, of their French citizenship.The measures lifted legal prohibitions on the public expression of racial hatred; excluded Jews from influential positions in the civil service, the military, and the cultural world; and established numerical quotas for Jews wishing to enter the liberal professions. In adopting these measures, the Vichy government was pursuing its own agenda, but in doing so, it encouraged attitudes, generated information, and created bureaucratic structures without which the later implementation of the more lethal measures that figured on the Nazi agenda would have faced serious obstacles, If the Vichy government did not know what to do with the Jews it had degraded, the Nazis did. In the most notorious incident, French police officers, executing a plan devised by the German SS officialTheodor Dannecker, rounded up 12,884Jews on July 16 and 17, 1942. Dannecker’s plan had called for the arrest of 28,000 men, women, and children in and around Paris, but word of it got out. Many people hid; some committed suicide. Those who were seized-3,031 men, 5,802 women, and
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4,051 children-were parked in an indoor sports stadium (the so-called Ve1 dHiv), from whence they were deported. Most ended up at Auschwitz. Of the 75,000Jews deported from France during the war, only 3,000 survived. When Paris was liberated in August 1944, some Resistance leaders urged General de Gaulle to declare the Republic. In their eyes, a new regime was again replacing a fallen competitor. It was a familiar scene in French history, but de Gaulle refused to reenact it. To do so, he argued, would be to concede an undeserved legitimacy to the Vichy government. In his view, no government owing its creation to the triumph of foreign arms and to its willingness to sacrifice national sovereignty could claim legitimacy. The Vichy regime had of course exercised de facto power, but it had never enjoyed rightful authority. With the Liberation, the Republic had “returnedhome,” but it had never ceased to exist and there was therefore no need to declare it anew.18 Henceforth, de Gaulle’s position would be adopted by all successive French governments, regardless of their political composition. Not until the 1990s was the consensus seriously challenged. In the summer of 1992, a half century after the round-up of Jews in the Paris sports stadium, a group of intellectuals published an open letter to Mitterrand, demanding that he declare “the French State of Vichy . . . responsible for the persecutions and crimes against the Jews of France.”19Mitterrand refused. On February 3, 1993, the government announced that the persecution would be officially remembered each year on July 16, but Mitterrand maintained his position on the question of responsibility: They want the Republic, they want France to fall to her knees, to apologize for Vichy’s crime. Well, that, . . . I will never accept it because historically it is not right. The truth is that on July 10, 1940, the Republic handed Marshal Petain a blank check, without knowing what he would do with the unlimited power he was receiving. And on July 11, he did away with all republican forms of power. The Republic therefore has nothing to do with what happened from July 1 1 to the Liberation.Vichy was an accidental regime that existed only because of the enemy occupation.20
The controversy continued, splitting the left and the right internally, until July 1995, when the newly elected Gaullist president, Jacques Chirac, publicly evoked a “collective moral failure (faute)” and an “unending debt.” “Yes,”the President declared, “the criminal insanity of the occupying power was, as each of us knows, helped by French people, helped by the French State.”21Raymond Barre (born 1924), a former conservative prime minister (1976-1981), sided with Mitterrand and suggested that conflicting perceptions might be dependent on generational factors. The older generation had a more statecentered view of public life and was more likely to take abstractions like sovereignty and the republic seriously. No one contested the assertion that French people acting under cover of authority had engaged in acts
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of persecution. The Republic, however, had not engaged in such acts. It had left its usual venues on July 10, 1940. The “FrenchState”that had claimed to succeed it had been a pseudostate, without sovereignty and therefore without a true (much less a legitimate) existence. Acts of persecution are always despicable. Mitterrand and others also thought that forced confessions from innocent parties are never a good idea. They are a particularly bad idea when the innocent party in question (the Republic) is the structure on whose strength the enforcement and expansion of rights depend and when the forced confession has the effect of compromisingthat structure’slegitimacy. Younger men and women were less likely than their elders to value the state as such and more likely to identify with civil society; they were less likely to understand themselves simply as citizens and more inclined to define themselves as members of specific groups (Jews, women, immigrants,gays). To them, all the talkabout the Republic going away and cominghome seemed ludicrous. To their ears, concrete facts spoke louder than abstractions. They wrote off the appeal to abstractions as evidence of a kind of closet antisemitism, or simply as an effort to cover up unpleasant realities. This debate would recur repeatedly over a range of issues in the 1990%and we shall return to it in chapters 7 and 8.
Frangois M i t t e r r a n d . Hero or Impostor? In September 1994, the political commitments Franqois Mitterrand had made as a young man during the turbulent years between 1934 and 1947 became the focus of public controversy. The debate was occasioned by Pierre Pean’s biographical study, sigmficantly and appropriately entitled Une jeunesse francaise (“aFrench youthhood”).22Pean, a journalist too young (born 1938) to have had any personal experience of the Third Republic or the Occupation, had set out to investigate allegations that Mitterrand had once harbored “fascist”sympathies. In speaking of the war years, Mitterrand had always emphasized his escape from captivity in Germany and his role in the Resis tance. Pean’s research produced a more complex picture. To partisans and opponents alike, Charles de Gaulle had appeared an extraordinary figure. Mitterrand, in contrast, seemed far more representative of his times.23The times had lent themselves to ambiguous choices, and throughout a long political career, ambiguity was Mitterrand’strademark. Mitterrand, a provincial, had arrived in Paris in the fall of 1934. He was seventeen, and he planned to study law and political science. The political temperature in the capital had not dropped much in the months since the mass demonstrations and counterdemonstrations of February. On the right, conservatives denounced the alleged corruption of republican politicians and clamored for institutional reforms to strengthen governmental authority. Many conservatives valued order over freedom; if the Republic failed to sat-
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isfy their longing for strong leadership, they would not hesitate to look elsewhere. But as we have seen, very few subscribed to anything that can be meaningfully described as fascism: divided amongst themselves, conservatives rejected the fascist idea of a single mass party as well as the dynamism and revolutionary rhetoric fascist parties typically espoused. Ideologically, the right was nationalist and xenophobic, virulently anticommunist,and less consistently antisemitic. The left was also divided, not just because republicans, socialists, and communists all competed for the allegiance of left-wing voters, but also because they differed over important substantive issues, including how far they should go in implementing social and economic reforms in the event of an electoral victory and how best to respond to the nascent fascist threat. The adolescent who got off the train and reported to his Catholic boarding house in 1934 was decades away from any socialistcommitment. Catholic,middle-class, and provincial, Mitterrand was, so to speak, born to conservatism.His immediate family was not hostile to the Republic, but many family friends and relations were: some were royalists, others were involved in extremist rightwing groups. In Paris, the young Mitterrand did what most seventeen-year-olds do: he tried to find himself. With the future of democracy hanging in the balance, he met risks at every turn:to his generation, experimenting with political ideas could be as dangerousmorally (and as exciting) as experimenting with drugs would be physically dangerous to a subsequent generation. Mitterrand read voraciously, attended to his religious duties, and flirted with the opposite sex, but he also joined the youth branch of a right-wingligue, the Croix defeu. Photographs show him in the company of nationalist students demonstrating against a Jewish law professor, otherwise unpopular because of the tough grades he dispensed, who was helping the Ethiopians plead their case in the League of Nations against Italian aggression. In the fall of 1938, Mitterrand began his obligatory military service. Normally, a young man of his social class would have served as an officer, but Mitterrand was too much of an individualist to be considered officer material: “a uniform,”he wrote the future wife of his brother Robert in November 1939, “wounds anyone who loves life.”2*He did, however, make sergeant, and it was as a sergeant that he sustained a chest wound near Verdun on June 14, 1940. Made prisoner, he was interned in a camp in eastern Germany. Twice he escaped, and twice he was recaptured; on his first attempt, he walked three hundred forty miles from Thuringia to the Swiss border before being apprehended. On his third try, he succeeded. Mitterrand returned to France in December 1941 (the month the Japanese attacked the American fleet at Pearl Harbor). By mid-January 1942, using family connections, he had secured a job at Vichy, working for the office in charge of former prisoners of war. He was now twenty-five years old. He admired Petain, and he identified with the thousands of men who, like himself, had
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escaped captivity in Germany and with the million and a half who were still languishing in German camps. But the political and military situation was evolving, and so was public opinion. The United States was now in the war, although neither the United States nor the Soviet Union had yet withdrawn diplomatic recognition from Vichy. On April 16, 1942, Pierre Laval returned to power, replacing Admiral Darlan, on whose staff Mitterrand’sbrother-in-law had served. On April 19, General Giraud, into whose family Mitterrand’ssister Colette had married, eluded his German captors. Both Darlan and Giraud moved to line up with the Allies after the Germansoccupiedthe southern zone in November 1942. Darlan was assassinated in December 1942; Giraud was supported by the Americans, who hoped to use him to counterbalance the less pliable de Gaulle. Meanwhile, collaborationist figures and policies became increasinglyprominent at Vichy. At the end of January 1943, Vichy created the Milice, a sort of auxiliary police force specializing in political repression and racial persecution, In February, three age cohorts were mobilized for obligatory work service in Germany. Sometime in the late spring or early summer of 1943, Mitterrand was awarded the Francisque, a decoration Vichy used to recognize people deemed to have served the regime’svalues before as well as afterJuly 1940. Normally, recipients were required to swear an oath of personal loyalty to Petain. Accounts of when and how Mitterrand received the decoration vary; Mitterrand claimed that he accepted the medal because its display in his buttonhole provided a useful cover for his Resistance activities.Mitterrand’sloyalties had in fact been shifting. Already in the summer of 1942, he had participated in discussions that would soon lead to the creation of a Resistance network in which he would be a key player. As “CaptainMorland,”Mitterrand would go to London in November 1943 and then on to Algiers, where he met General de Gaulle in early December. In many respects, Mitterrand’s Resistance organization-the Rassemblement national desprisonniers de guerre (National Movement of Prisoners of War, RNPG)-reflected his own personality, experience, and politics. Its primary audience was former prisoners of war, and it included many people who had gradually shifted their allegiance from Vichy to the Resistance. It was not Gaullist, and throughout and after the war, Mitterrand was bitterly denounced by de Gaulle’sintemperate nephew, Michel Cailliau,head of a rival but numerically weaker organization. Mitterrand’s group also kept its distance from groups sponsored by the Communist Party, with which Caillau, though more conservative than Mitterrand, was cooperating. Mitterrands leadership eventually prevailed-with de Gaulle’sassent. On several occasions, Mitterrand narrowly escaped arrest. At the Liberation, he was named acting minister in charge of the welfare of former prisoners of war. Such was the past that Pean’s book evoked. Mitterrand had cooperated with Pean, and had not anticipated the critical reactions the book would
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elicit. During the ensuing debate, the President added fuel to the controversy by claiming to have known nothing about Vichy’s anti-Jewish legislation while he was at Vichy and by defending his long postwar association with Rene Bousquet. Bousquet (1909-1993) had been charged and incarcerated at the Liberation. In mid-1949, the High Court had judged his behavior “regrettable,” but not treasonous; it had condemned him to five years of “indignite nationale” (a new penalty that entailed a loss of civic rights) but had immediately lifted the sentence in recognition of services Bousquet had rendered the Resistance during and after his term as chief of police. Bousquet subsequently pursued a successful career in business, and exerted political influence through his control over the DrfpGche du Midi, an important provincial newspaper. His wartime activities came to public attention again at the end of the 1970s,and in September 1989,Serge Klarsfeld (born 1935) demanded he be tried for crimes against humanity.25Mitterrand,by then president of the Republic, had sought to block prosecution of the case. On June 8,1993, Bousquet was shot dead in his Paris apartment by Christian Didier (born 1944), a mentally disturbed would-be writer looking for attention. On the left, many people found Mitterrands postwar relations with Bousquet even harder to swallow than the accounts of his lingeringprftuinistesympathies during the war. LionelJospin (born 1937)was the leader of the Socialist Party throughout Mitterrands first term as president and served as a cabinet minister during Mitterrand’ssecond term. “Onemight have hoped that the man who was the leader of the French left in the 1970s and 1980s could have had a simpler, clearer itinerary,”he told the newsweekly Le Point, adding: “WhatI can’t understand is that he maintained relations, right up into the 1980s, with people like Bousquet, the organizer of the great round-upsof Jews.”26 Mitterrand is in some ways a unique case. Few of his compatriots shared his lifelong penchant for games of duplicity and double identity (exemplified by his parallel family lives, one with his wife, the other with one of his mistresses). At the same time, few could boast his Resistance record, regardless of the ambiguities that attended it. But in other and important ways, Mitterrand was a representative figure. He had wasted few tears on the Third Repub lic; he had admired Petain and believed in the marshal’spatriotism; even in the Resistance, he had been neither a Gaullist nor a communist; and he had maintained contacts and friendships across political lines that to others (especially to those born later) looked like moral chasms. In 1995, the historian Philippe Burrin evoked “thevast gray zone which is, in fact, the dominant blot of color in the panorama of Zes unndes noires [“theblack years,” an expression commonly used to denote the years between 1940 and 1944].”27The Mitterrand of 1941 to 1943, like the Mitterrand of the mid-l93Os, belongs to that “gray zone.”Mitterrand, in addition to his duplicitous tendencies, had a wellearned reputation for remaining faithful to his friends. In the postwar years, he stuck by the people he had known in the gray zone. But by the 1990s,the effort to
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understand the world of the 1930s and 1940s seemed too demanding to a new generation raised in a very different world, and gray seemed simply uniformly comtemptible. Mitterrands leadership reshaped the left in the 1960s and 1970s. He was a complex and in many ways unattractive man. In the 1990%the ambiguities of his wartime record provided ready ammunition for people who, by taking aim at Mitterrand, in fact targeted a political style and a set of postwar political choices that had run their historical course. We shall hear a great deal more about that style and those choices later in this book.
Maurice Papon. The Responsibilities of a Schreibtischtiter28 The Allied landings in Normandy began on June 6, 1944. As community after community was liberated, there was dancing in the streets. There were also executions. About ten thousand people were put to death, the vast majority in the heat of the moment and before formal courts could be organized. In its p r o gram, the Resistance had promised to rid French public, social, and cultural life of people who had sided with the Germans or profited from the Occupation, but the existinglegal code did not facilitate what would in any event have been a difficult task. The offense for which “collaborators”were typically prosecuted was treason, not crimes against humanity; the Nuremberg International Tribunal, which created the jurisprudence that now undergitds charges of crimes against humanity (the crime itself was created by the London Charter, signed on August 8,1945), did not meet until November 1945 and rendered its verdict only at the end of September 1946. Top political figures and the most visible and vocal proponents of collaboration paid for their commitments. Petain was tried in the summer of 1945, convicted, and sentenced to death. The sentence was commuted, and he died in prison in 1951. Pierre Laval was tried in Octo ber 1945, convicted, and shot. Others were already dead Philippe Henriot, Vichy’s minister of information, was killed by the Resistance in June 1944. Joseph Darnand,head of the Milice, was tried in liberated Paris, convicted, and executed on October 10, 1945. Jacques Doriot was killed in Germany in February 1945, before French justice could lay hands on him,Marcel DCat fled to a Tyrolian convent. In the world of culture, Robert Brasillach, a talented and influentialjournalist who had vilified the Republic in the 1930s and pleaded the fascist cause in the columns ofJe subpartout in occupied Paris, was tried, convicted, and shot in February 1945;other well-knownfigures, including the novelist Louis-Ferdinand Celine, took refuge abroad Drieu la Rochelle committed suicide. In the economic world, the automaker Louis Renault died in prison in 1944; his company was confiscated and nationalized by the government. The state administration and the military were partially purged, despite an absence of uniform standards and an abundance of ambiguous evidence.
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The events of the war years were evoked in French courtrooms in the 195Os, but again, the focus was not on crimes against humanity. On June 21, 1943,Jean Moulin was seized by the Gestapo as he arrived for a meeting in Caluire, a small town near Lyon. Someonehad clearly tipped offthe Germans. Moulin died under torture, probably on July 8. The circumstances suggested that he had been betrayed by a Resistance comrade, Rent Hardy. Hardy (1911-1987) was tried amidst great publicity in 1947 and again in 1950, but never convicted. By the 1980s, interest had shifted-and the normal functioning of legal rules, especially statutes of limitation, also redirected legal strategies. The patriotism on which earlier generations had been raised now seemed at best quaint. The nature of Gaullism was changing: its heroic period was over. De Gaulle left power in 1969 and died in 1970. The war generation was being replaced by a new generation:Jacques Chirac, who recreated a Gaullist party in 1976, was born in 1932. The PCF, which had been so active in the Resistance after 1941 and had so vociferously exploited its Resistance image after the war, had entered a period of historic decline. For many on the left, the Jacobin republic had fallen from grace: it was too statecentered, too assimilationist, and too convinced of its own superior knowledge and competence. In this context, a new set of crimes and criminals assumed importance. In May 1987, Klaus Barbie (born 1913) went on trial in Lyon. Lyon was often referred to as the capital of the Resistance, and Barbie, an SS officer assigned to Lyon in November 1942 and given responsibility for repressing “political crimes,”was known as its “butcher.”Jean Moulin was only his most famous victim. In 1952 and 1954,French courts had found Barbie guilty in absentia of war crimes-the torture, murder, and deportation of arrested r&sistunts,the execution of hostages-and sentenced him to death. Protected by American intelligence and using a false name, Barbie had eluded punishment, eventually settling in Bolivia. By the time he was brought back to France in 1983,his sentence had lapsed and the statute of limitations for war crimes had run out. The Barbie trial demonstrated the importance of new constraints, constituencies, and concerns. Even before the war had ended, Allied and Resistance voices had warned that existing penal law and procedural rules might get in the way of “justice.”As the writer and r6sistunt Albert Camus put it, “Thereis no law that addresses the form of treason we have all known.”29As time passed, the legal situation grew more complicated. Forty years after the war’s end, the only crime for which Barbie could still be prosecuted was crimes against humanity: for this crime and this crime only, by virtue of a December 1964 parliamentary vote, French law recognized no statute of limitations. The French vote had been intended to keep legal options open should German statutes of limitations place Nazi criminals beyond the reach of German law. The Germans eventuallyabolished the statute of limitations for both genocide and murder, while in France, only crimes against humanity remained
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actionable. At Nuremberg and elsewhere, however, postwar prosecutors had shied away from charges based on crimes against humanity: they were uncomfortable with the retroactive character of the charge and the ambiguities of its definition. They preferred to cite defendants for crimes against peace and for war crimes, where jurisprudential traditions were more established. As defined by the London Charter, the Nuremberg Tribunal, and the United Nations, crimes against humanity are crimes (“Murder,extermination, enslavement, deportation and other inhuman acts”)committed against civilians. The import of this stipulation became clear as French prosecutors sought to draw up articles of indictment against Barbie. Rgsistants, whom the Nazis had stigmatized as terrorists and bandits, had always insisted on being recognized as soldiers. This insistence now placed crimes committed against them beyond the reach of the law.Jews, in contrast, were clearly civilians;crimes committed against them were actionable.On August 1 1,1944, a train loaded with over 650 prisoners left Lyon for Germany: Barbie, prosecutorial authorities ruled, could be charged only for the deportation of prisoners who were Jews and were being deported for that reason alone. The ruling was partially reversed in December 1985 by the Court of Appeals, which interpreted another clause of the text defining crimes against humanity (“persecutionson political, racial or religious grounds,when such acts are done or such persecutions are carried on in execution of or in connection with any crime against peace or any war crime”)to apply to the deportation of combatants as well as of civilians.30 The original ruling nonetheless contributed to latent tensions already building between the various constituencies most directly interested in the trial. Previous trials had pitted “France”or the Resis tance against traitors and war criminals.The central victims in the Barbie trial were Jews defined as such-not simply civilians and not r6sistants:the indictment held Barbie responsible for the round-up of eighty-sixmen, women, and children arrested at the offices of the Union g&n&ale des isra6lites de France on February 9, 1943 and for the arrest, on April 6, 1944, of forty-fourJewish children and seven adults who had been sheltered at Izieu, a small town near Lyon. Of the eighty-six people arrested at the UGIF offices, eighty-two were deported to Auschwitz, and of these eighty-two, three returned. The people arrested at Izieu were deported; one adult survived. The shift in emphasis from treason to crimes against humanity and from the imperialist character of the Nazi project to its genocidal program was not simply the result of legal accidents. By the 1980s, resistants were no longer politically and culturally dominant in France; they were old men and women, and the normal course of intergenerational interaction often made their children inclined to disown the official emphasis on la France rgsistante. Postwar Jewish generations,in contrast, questioned the silence and the assimilationist aspirations of their parents. This was true not just in France: it was during the 1970s and 1980s that the word Holocaust entered the public vocabulary and began
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to restructure understandings of World War 11.31In the United States,the series “Holocaust”captured a television audience; it was rebroadcast in France in 1978, in the wake of a particularly appalling interviewwith the still rabidly antisemitic Darquier de Pellepoix, undisturbed in his Spanish exile.32 Claude Lanzmann’s eight-hourmovie Shoah appeared,to acclaim and controversy,in 1985. But in France, special circumstances shaped the new assertiveness of the Jewish community: the hostility of the Jacobin state to identity politics, the relatively pro-Arab posture of French governments after the ArabIsraeli Six-Day War of June 1967, the rise of the National Front (whose racism was directed primarily against Arabs, but whose politics drew on a political tradition steeped in antisemitism), a series of antisemitic incidents in the 1980s, and, of course, the ongoing debate about wartime commitments.33As Resistance voices faded, Jewish voices grew louder. Serge Klarsfeld, who played an important role in the Barbie case as a lawyer for the civil plaintiffs,offered a magmfied version of a not uncommon evolution. Until the mid-l96Os, Klarsfeld’s career seemed unlikely to bring his name to public attention. He had studied history and political science, then taken a job first with the stateawned broadcasting company and later with Continental Grains. The birth of his son-named for his own father, who had died in the Nazi camps-and the Six-DayWar changed his life: he became a professional Nazi hunter and memorialist of Holocaust victims.34 On July 4,1987, Klaus Barbie was convicted of crimes against humanity and sentenced to life in prison. Other trials followed,attended by the same sorts of legal difficultiesand politicization. In 1946 and 1947,Paul Touvier (born 1915), a leader of the Milice for the region around Lyon, had been condemned to death in absentia on charges of treason. Touvier remained in hiding for over two decades, until his death sentence legally expired. He then surfaced and had the effrontery to demand that penalties assessed against his estate be lifted. In November 1971, he obtained a pardon from President Georges Pompidou. Soon, however, charges against him were revived, and again he disappeared. On May 24,1989,Touvier was arrested at a convent in Nice, where he had been hiding for years. As in the Barbie case, the only legally possible charge was crimes against humanity, but this time, the defendant was French. Touvier had been the committed and brutal servant of the Vichy regime in its most violent phase. This was the point the prosecution hoped to make. Touvier was charged with ordering the execution of seven hostages, all Jews, in retaliation for the assassination of Philippe Henriot by the Resistance. The hostages were killed in W e u x (near Lyon) onJune 29,1944,the day after Henriot’sdeath. The pros ecution assembled its case using the definition of crimes against humanity that had emerged from the Barbie trial. That definition,while blurring the prior dis tinction between civilians and combatants, had introduced a requirement that the acts in question have been committed in accordance with the “established plan” of a “state pursuing a policy of ideological hegemony.”In April 1992, a court dismissed the charges against Touvier; the judges argued that Vichy had
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lacked the political coherence necessary to quallfy as a “statepursuing a policy of ideological hegemony. The decision provoked a public outcry and protests by well-knownhistorians,and in November, it was partially reversed on appeal. Touvier was finally tried in the spring of 1994. He was convicted and given a life term but only because the prosecution argued-against its previous positions and its better judgment-that Touvier’scrimes could be traced to German orders.35 In the meantime, as we have seen, efforts to bring Rene Bousquet to trial were aborted when the former police chief was gunned down. Even without the assistance of assassins, death was thinning the ranks of those who could be brought to book for wartime acts. The elimination of Bousquet was particularly unfortunate, and not just because of the enormous effort public prosecutors and private parties (especially Serge Klarsfeld) had put into building the case against him. Jospin’sdescription of Bousquet as “theorganizer of the great round-ups of Jews” alluded to only half of Bousquet’s story. Bousquet was not a committed Nazi, like Barbie, nor was he an antisemitic, anticommunist, antidemocratic thug like Touvier. Bousquet’srapid rise through the administrative ranks of the state had happened during the decade before the defeat of 1940. His politics had been unremarkably centrist; his patrons, including Pierre Laval, were far more interested in the clientelist advantages of power than ideology of any sort. Bousquet apparently saw no reason why the defeat should interrupt his promising career. In September 1940, he became France’syoungest prefect. When he became Vichy’schief police official in April 1942, the job carried cabinet rank. His lack of ideological commitment did not prevent him from knowingly ordering and organizing police operations that led to the detention, torture, deportation, and/or death of a very long list of rksistants, Jews, and others. But the terrible things he did left his politics relatively untouched: he remained a centrist, which is why his actions had become ambiguous enough to prompt his arrest by the Gestapo in June 1944 and why he found his feet-and his friends-so quickly in the Fourth Republic. Bousquet had no need to flee to Spain, like Darquier, or to a reactionary priory, like Touvier. Unlike Darquier and Touvier, he did not embrace despicability;on the contrary, he was gray through and through, and thus far more representative of his contemporaries than were Darquier and Touvier. His trial might have served important educational functions, but it never happened. On October 8,1997,Maurice Papon went on trial in a Bordeaux courtroom. The eighty-seven-year-oldman, whose age and physical fragility were often cited by his lawyers, was not accustomed to appearing in a position of weakness. Papon was a commander in the Legion of Honor, a well-connected former civil servant, Gaullist deputy, and cabinet minister. Until 1981, his most controversial post had been his service as prefect of police in Paris from 1958 to 1966. On October 17,1961,a peaceful but unauthorized demonstrationby
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thirty thousand pro-independence Algerians resulted in fifteen thousand arrests and some one hundred deaths; beaten bodies were found the next day floating in the Seine. Papon defended his men: “The Parisian police did what it had to d0.”36 Twenty years later, Papon was serving as conservativePresident Valery Gis card d’Estaing’sbudget minister. The country was in the midst of a presidential campaign in which Giscard would ultimately be defeated. On May 6, 1981, the Parisian Canard enchain&,a well-financed, left leaning satirical weekly with a long record of investigative scoops, published an article implicating Papon in the deportation of Jews in 1942. From 1942 to 1944, Papon had in fact been secretary general of the regional government of the Gironde-a sort of deputy prefect, an official who did not make policy, but was instrumentalin overseeing its implementation.His hierarchical superior, the regional prefect, Maurice Sabatier,would die in 1990, when prosecutors still hoped to bring Bousquet to trial. Evidence of Papon’s role in the deportation of Jews had surfaced in the regional archives. Papon brushed off the charges made by the Canard. The right rose to his defense, denouncing what it considered politically motivated smear tactics undertaken in the midst of a closely contested presidential campaign. Papon had not cut a high profile in the Vichy administration, and he could point to a record of having assisted the Resistance from the beginning of 1943. Unlike Bousquet, he was not a man long known to have skeletons in his closetunless, of course, Algerian bones counted, and for most people, they did not (or not ye0.37 For sixteen years, the charges against Papon wended their way through the French judicial system. Finally, he was indicted for crimes against humanity: he was accused of having actively facilitatedthe arrest of over fifteen hundred Jews. The arrested men, women, and children had first been interned in the French holding camp at Drancy (outside of Paris, now on the rail line that links the city to Charles de Gaulle Airport), and then deported to extermination camps. Almost none had returned. The Papon trial lasted six months-a record in the annals of French judicial history. From start to finish, it was held under the spotlights of national (and international) attention. Politicians and civic leaders weighed in. Journalists provided day-byday coverage and commentary. Historians took the stand to testlfy in what many people saw as the trial of the French civil service. Self-styled representatives of Vichy’s victims appeared inside and outside the courtroom. Very few of the participants in the courtroom drama were old enough to have first-hand knowledge of the events and dilemmas under consideration. In the end, Papon was convicted of involvement in the unjustified arrest and sequestration of dozens of people and condemned to ten years in prison. He was, however, acquitted of being an accessory to murder. It was an odd end-
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ing for a trial that had been billed as the trial of the Vichy regime, and no one was fully satisfied. “Thisverdict,”h c Conan concluded, . . again illustrates the impossibility of melding the messages of law, memory, pedagogy, and Hist0ry.”3~ In a country and at a time when political battles seemed increasingly to erupt over issues of memory, identity, and history, the trial had at least suggested some of the pitfalls of framing political fights around such questions. I‘.
THE LEGACIES The defeat of 1940, however important its immediate causes, was not an iso lated incident. The political divisions of the 1930s were aggravated by “the exhaustion of a great power that felt itself becoming demographically and economically weaker, and that feared a decline in its status [ddchsement].”39 Postwar developments-the rise of the superpowers, the traumas of decolonization-seem to confirm that loss of rung, making memories of the defeat, the armistice, and the policies and politics of the Vichy government all the more difficult to process, both psychologically and politically. Political debate about World War I1 was shaped by what was happening to the French state and to civil society, and over the years, its focus changed (as did the interests of historians studying the period). In the first decades after the war, the emphasis was on definitions of treason and on how commitments could be measured against various definitions of loyalty. This emphasis was consonant with ongoing questions about institutional arrangements and political legitimacy, contested colonial wars, and the polarizing presence of a strong communist party. It generated a parliamentary inquest into the causes of the defeat.40 It fueled arguments about the options that had remained available to the government in Paris once it had become clear that French forces had been defeated in the field. It renewed the assertions of semirepentant supporters of Vichy, who contended that de Gaulle and Petain had been equally necessary defenders of French interests, the former serving as the defeated country’s “sword,”while the latter provided the country’s exposed population with a “shield.”It sustained debates about the role of the PCF in the Resistance and about the party’sgoals at the Liberation. It encouraged analyses of why hopes for a new kind of politics were disappointed at the Liberation. It was accompanied by a glorification of the Resistance and the celebration of French sacrifices. It reached what may have been its apogee in the ceremony marking the inscription of Jean Moulin’s name at the Pantheon on December 19, 1964. “Aux grands hommes,” reads the frontispiece of the building, “la patrie reconnaissante”(“to its great men, from a grateful country”). The novelist and former rdsistunt Andre Malraux (1901-1976), then serving as minister of culture in de Gaulle’s government, eulogized the Resistance hero in a speech that is both unforgettable and now
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very dated. “The homage we render today,” Malraux concluded, “can end only with the song we will now hear,“ ce Chant des Partisans que j’ai entendu murmurer c o m e un chant de complicite, puis psalmodier dans le brouillard des Vosges et les bois d’Alsace, m2le au cri perdu des moutons des tabors, quand les bazookas de C o d z e avanpient a la rencontre des chars de Rundstedt lances de nouveau contre Strasbourg. Ecoute aujourd’hui, jeunesse de France, ce qui fut pour nous le Chant du Malheur. C’est la marche funebre des cendres que voici. A cBte de celles de Carnot avec les soldats de 1’An11, de celles de Victor Hugo avec les Miserables, de celles de Jaures veillees par la Justice, qu’elles reposent avec leur long cortege d’ombres defigurees. Aujourd’hui,jeunesse, puissestu penser a cet homme c o m e tu aurais approche tes mains de sa pauvre face informe du dernier jour, de ses levres qui n’avaient pas parle; ce jour-lh,elle etait le visage de la Fran~e.4~
By the 1970s,de Gaulle was gone, republican institutions seemed secure, the Communist Party was trying to reposition itself as the anchor of a leftwing coalition capable of winning national elections, and economic worries had replaced foreign policy ambitions at the top of the public agenda. A new generation of historians reexamined the record of the Vichy government, arguing that Petain and his associates had not simply acted under German pressure, but had often taken the initiative in developing policies demonstrably hostile to republican principles and human rights.42 In the 1980s, the left was in power in France. The decentralizationreforms adopted by the government in 1982 were one indication among many that state-society relations in France were changing.Jacobinism was on the defensive. Republican secularism found it had no adequate response when Muslim parents demanded that their daughters be allowed to wear headscarves in school. Elements within the French Jewish community also became more assertive. In the meantime, the Soviet empire collapsed, and with the inauguration of democratization efforts across the globe, the invocation of human rights and the demand that perpetrators of human rights violations be held accountable became common elements of public discourse across national boundaries. Given the new scholarship on Vichy, the mobilization of the Jewish community, and the new emphasis on human rights, the focus on what had happened to Jews in wartime France and the effort to assign responsibility answered the priorities and responded to the sensibilities of a new generation. The past remained present, and each present held up a different image of the past. But beyond the ongoing debates, one thing was clear. World War I1 changed Europe-and France-forever. Culturally, the defeat and the subsequent realization that France’s fate was inseparable from the outcome of a truly global struggle helped forge elites who were less self-satisfied and less insular than their prewar counterparts. Economically, the war shook up assumptions and habits, paving the way for postwar planning and transformation. Politically, the Vichy experience disqualified dictatorship as a desir-
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able form of government, while participation in the Resistance brought both Catholics and communistsinto the republican fold. The Cold War would once again pit the PCF against the republican order, but while Zui’cite‘ would periodicallyreemerge as a contentious issue, the war between the Church and the Republic that had opened during the Revolution was now largely over. The military and political catastrophes of 1940 had demonstrated again the dangers of internecinedivisions. Resistance leaders hoped to find a political settlement that would allow Fmce to move beyond those divisions.As in the past, such a settlement proved painfully elusive. Instead of the anticipated domestic settlement, there was an unanticipated international settlement. Europe’s fate rested in the hands of the two new superpowers, the United States and the Soviet Union. Peace came to Europe-but not, as it turned out, to France.
RECOMMENDED READING Azerna, Jean-Pierre,and Franqois Bedarida, eds. La France des annbes noires. 2 vols. Paris: Le Seuil, 1993. Boulanger, Gerard. Maurice Papon, un technocratefraqais dam la collaboration. Paris: Le Seuil, 1994. -. Papon, un inhus d a m la Rbpublique. Paris: Le Seuil, 1997. Burrin, Philippe. France under the Germans: Collaboration and Compromise. Trans. Janet Lloyd. New York: New Press, 1996. Conan, Eric and Henry Rousso. Vichy:A n Ever-Present Past. Trans. Nathan Bracher. Hanover, NH:University Press of New England, 1998. Conan, Eric. Leproces Papon: Unjournal daudience. Paris: Gallimard, 1998. Cordier, Daniel. Jean Moulin, L’inconnu du Pantbbon. Vol. 1, Une ambition pour la Rbpublique,juin 1899-juin 1936. Paris: J. C. Lattes, 1989. (Preface) Durand, Yves. La France dans la deuxiemeguewe mondiale. 2nd ed. Paris: Armand Colin, 1993. -. Vichy, 1940-1944. Paris: Bordas, 1972. Hoffrnann, Stanley. Decline or Renewal?France since the 1930s. New York Viking, 1974. (Part I> Jackson, Julian. France: The Dark Years, 1940-1944. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001. Kaplan, Alice. The Collaborator: The Trial and Execution of Robert Brasillach. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2000. Kedward, H . R. In Search of the Maquis: Rural Resistance in Southern France, 1942-1944. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993. -. Resistance in Vichy France: A Study of Ideas and Motivation in the Southern Zone, 1940-1942. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978. Laborie, Pierre. L’opinionfraqaise sous Vichy. Paris: Le Seuil, 1990. Marrus, Michael R., and Robert 0. Paxton. Vichy France and the Jews. New York: Basic Books, 1981. May, Ernest. Strange Victoty:Hitler’s Conquest of France. New York: Hill and Wang, 2000.
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Michel, Henri. Les courants depenske de la Rksistance. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1962. Novick, Peter. The Resistance versus Vichy:The Purge of Collaborators in Liberated France. New York: Columbia University Press, 1968. Paxton, Robert 0.VichyFrance: Old Guard and New order, 1940-1944. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1972. Rousso, Henry. The Vichy Syndrome: History and Memory in France since 1944. Trans. Arthur Goldhammer. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1991.
Documents and Memoirs Bloch, Marc. Strange Defeat:A Statement of Evidence Written in 1940. (1946) Trans. Gerard Hopkins. London: Oxford University Press, 1949. Bourdet, Claude. L’aventure incertaine: de la Rksistance a la restauration. Paris: Stock, 1975. Frenay, Henri. La nuitpnira. Paris: Robert Laffont, 1973. Iaval, Pierre. Leproc&sLaval. Paris: Albin Michel, 1946. Michel, Henri, and Boris Guetzevitch, eds. Les id6espolitiques et sociales de la Rksistance (Documents clandestins- 1940- 1944). Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1954. Perret, Jacques. Bande apart. Paris: Gallimard, 1951. Semprun, Jorge. Legrand voyage (The Long Voyage).Paris: Gallimard, 1963. Tillon, Charles. On chantait rouge. Paris: Robert Laffont, 1977. Le proc& de Maurice Papon, 8 octobre 1997-8 janvier 1998. 2 vols. Paris: Albin Michel, 1998. Quahe proc&sde trahison devant la Cour de justice a2 Paris: Paquis, Bucard, Luchaire,Brasillach,requisitoires etplaidoiries.Paris: Les Editions de Paris, 1947.
Novels Antelme, Robert. L’esp&cehumaine (The Human Race). Rev. ed. Paris: Gallimard, 1957. Camus, Albert. La Peste (The Plague). Paris: Gallimard, 1947. Curtis,Jean-Louis.Lesfor& de la nuit (The Forests of the Night). Paris:Julliard, 1947. Dutourd, Jean. Au bon beurre, ou, DLx ans de la vie d’un crkmier (The Best Butter). Paris: Gallimard, 1952. Malraux, Andre. La condition humaine (Man’sFate). Paris: Gallimard, 1933;rev. ed. 1969. Vercors. Le silence de la mer (The Silence of the Sea). Paris: Editions de minuit, 1942.
1. For a path-breaking analysis of these arguments, see Henry Rousso, Le syndr6me de Vichy de 1944 a nos jours, rev. ed. (Paris: Le Seuil, 1990), as well as Eric Conan and Henry Rousso, Vichy: Unpassd qui nepassepas (Paris: Fayard, 1994).
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2. The title of Marc Bloch’s penetrating contemporary analysis of the defeat: Strange Defeat: A Statement of Evidence Written in 1940, trans. Gerard Hopkins @ondon:Oxford University Press, 1949). 3. Charles Maurras, L’Action franGaise, April 9, 1935, cited in Louis Bodin and Jean Touchard, eds., Frontpopulaire 1936 (Paris: Armand Colin, 1972), pp. 31-32. Blum was as French as Maurras; he was born in Paris in 1872 to parents of Alsatian origin.Traitors were executed by firing squad; the implication of Maurras’s statement is that Blum deserved to be treated as something worse even than a traitor. 4. M a m , L’ActionfranGaise,October 13, 1935, cited in Bodin and Touchard, eds., Frontpopulaire 1936, p. 32. Until the left in power abolished the death penalty in 1981, murderers were guillotined. 5. Neville Chamberlain, September 28, 1938, cited in David Thomson, England in the TwentiethCentury, 1914- I963 (Harmondsworth,Middlesex, U.K.: Penguin, 1965), p. 175. In 1937, the year Neville Chamberlain became prime minister, his brother, who had served as foreign secretary in the 1920s,told him:“Neville,you must remember you don’t know anything about foreign affairs.”Cited in Peter Clarke, Hope and Cloy: Britain, 1900-1990 (Harmondsworth,Middlesex, U.K.: Penguin, 1996),p. 184. 6. Figures cited by Philippe Burrin, La France a l’heure allemande, 1940- 1944 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1995), p. 11. Ernest May puts French battle deaths at 124,000,with 200,000wounded; see May, Strange Victoy :Hitler’s Conquest of France (New York Hill and Wang, 2000), p. 7. 7. Text of speech in Charles de Gaulle, Discours et Messages, vol. 1, Pendant la guerre, 1940-1946@aris:Plon, 1970), pp. 4-5. “Francehas lost a battle” was the first line of a Free French poster that went up in London in July 1940. The next line read: “But France has not lost the war!” “Accidental leaders [Des gouvernants de rencontre] ,” the tract continued, “may have capitulated, yielding to panic, forgetting their honor, delivering the country into servitude. Still, the game is not over!” The text of the poster is reproduced in Charles de Gaulle, Discours et messages, vol. 1, Pendant la guerre, 1940-1946 (Paris: Plon, 1970), p. 21. 8. SeeJean-PierreAzema, De Munich a la Libkration, 1938- 1944 (Paris:Le Seuil, 1979), p. 62. 9. Cited in Philippe Burrin, La France a l’heure allemande, 1940-1944 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1995), p. 31. 10. Radio address, June 17, 1940, text in Philippe Petain, Discours a w FranGais, 17juin 1940-20 aoat 1944, ed. Jean-Claude Barbas (Paris: Albin Michel, 1989), p. 59. 11. Andre Malraux, “Transferdes cendres de Jean Moulin au Pantheon,”December 19, 1964, in Andre Malraux, Le miroir des limbes (Paris: Gallimard, 1976), p. 991. 12. These estimates are very hard to make and depend on definitions. Burrin puts the turning point quite early. Already in the fall of 1940, he writes, “the majority of the population wanted England to win and demonstrated attitudes toward collaborationism that ranged from skepticism to hostility” (from La France l’heure allemande, 1940-1944, p. 186). For a nuanced treatment of the many shades and determinants of public opinion, see chapter 12 of Burrin’sbook. 13. We will consider de Gaulle’s wartime role more fully in chapter 4. 14. The author of this act was Jacques Renouvin. Renouvin, by profession a lawyer, had been a member of the Action franGaise and the equally right-wing Camelots du Roi but broke with the right over its acceptance of appeasement at Munich: always
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ready to express his views in action, Renouvin responded to the news that the centerright politician Pierre-Etienne Flandin had sent congratulatorytelegrams to summit participants by slapping the former minister in public. When war came, Renouvin volunteered for a combat unit. He later helped organize the Resistance movement Combat. His efforts to demonstrate that passivity in the face of occupation had no excuse are regularly evoked in H. R. Kedward, Resistance in VicbyFrance:A Study of Ideas and Motivation in the Southern Zone, 1940-1942 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978). 15. Charlesde Gaulle, August 25, 1944,in Charlesde Gaulle, Dkscours etMessages, vol. 1, Pendant la guewe, 1940-1946(Paris: Plon, 1970),p. 464. 16. From the title of the book by Eric Conan and Henry Rousso: Vicby: Un pass6 gui nepassepas. (Paris:Fayard, 1994). In translating the book, Nathan Bracher used “Vichy:An Ever-Present Past” as the title (Hanover, NH:University Press of New England, 1998). 17. On the treatment ofJews during the 1930s and under Vichy, see Michael R. Marfus and Robert 0. Paxton, Vicby France and the Jews (New York: Schocken Books, 1983). 18. See de Gaulle’s account in de Gaulle, Mhoires de guewe, vol. 2, L’Unit6, 1942-1944 (Paris:Plon, 1956), p. 303, p. 308. 19. Text of the appeal in Le Monde,June 17,1992, p. 10. 20. Cited in Pierre Favier and Michel Martin-Roland,La dkennie Mittewand, vol. 4, Les d6chirements(1991-1995) (Paris:Le Seuil,1999), pp. 561-562. See also k c Conan and Henry Rousso: Vicby: Unpass6 qui nepassepas (Paris: Fayard, 1994), ch. 1. 21. Text of Chirac’sspeech excerpted in Le Monde,July 18,1995, p. 6. 22. Pierre Pean, Une jeunesse franGaise: FranGois Mitterand 1934-1947 (Paris: Fayard, 1994). 23. In entitling his biography of MitterrandMittewand, une histoire de FranGais, Jean Lacouture would reiterate Pean’s theme about the representative character of Mitterrands life; see Lacouture,Mittewand, une histoire de Franqais, 2 vols. (Paris: Le Seuil, 1998). 24. Letter quoted in Pierre Pean, Une jeunesse franGaise: Franqois Mitterrand 1934-1947 (Paris:Fayard, 1994), p. 113. 25. Klarsfeld, born in Paris in September 1935,lost his father in the Holocaust.Seconded by his German wife Beate and later by his son Amo, he has spent most of his adult life trying to bring to book people who played a part in the persecution of Jews. He was president of Fils et FiUes des DeportesJuifs de France. See further discussion below and Claude Bochurberg,Entretiens avec Serge Klarsfeld (Paris: Stock, 1997). 26. Interview, “Le solo de Jospin,”Le Point, September 10, 1994, p. 35. 27. Philippe Burrin, La France b l’heure allemande, 1940-1944 (Paris:Le Seuil, 19951, p. 9. 28. ”Schreibtischtiiter”is the German term for officials who never dirtied their own hands, but whose desk activities ordered or legitimated criminal behavior by others. The French speak of ”crimesde bureau.” 29. Albert Camus, Combat,January 5,1945, p. 1. 30. The definition of crimes against humanity and of related crimes (genocide, apartheid) and their applicabilityto events unrelated to Nazi Germany and World War
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I1 remain deeply contentious. For views articulated in France in response to the judicial proceedings discussed here, see Andre Frossard, Le Crime contre l’humanit6 (Paris: Robert Iaffont, 1983, Alain Finkielkraut,La M h o i r e vaine: Du crime contre I‘bumanit6 (Paris: Gallimard, 1989), and Pierre Truche, “La notion de crime contre I’humanite:Bilan et propositions,”Esprit, No. 181 (May 1992), pp. 67-87. Frossard (1915-1995) converted to Catholicism in 1935 and frequented Catholic Resistance circles in Lyon before being imprisoned as a Jewish hostage in December 1943.After the war, he was a well-known journalist and commentator on Catholic affairs; politically, he was a Gaullist. He testified against Klaus Barbie. Finkielkraut (born 1949) is a philosopher, from whom we shall hear again in chapters 7 and 8. Truche was the prosecutor in the Barbie case and was involved in the Touvier case, discussed below. 3 1. This development was partly related to developments in Israel; see especially Tom Segev, The Seventh Million: The Zsraelis and the Holocaust, trans. Haim Watzman (New York: Hill and Wang, 1993). 32. Darquier had been condemned to death in absentia in June 1947.He was interviewed in August 1978 by Philippe Ganier-Raymond; the interview appeared in L’Express under a title taken from Darquier’sremarks: ” ‘A Auschwitz, on n’a gaze que les porn’” [“‘Onlylice were gassed at Auschwitz’”],L’Express, October 28, 1978, pp. 164-199. 33. For a particularly interesting set of reflections on new communitarian trends among French Jews, see Annie Kriegel, R6Jexion sur les questfomjuives (Paris: Hachette, 1984), especiallypart I1 (pp. 109-265). 34. Klarsfelds books include The Children of Zzieu:A Human Tragedy (trans. Kenneth Jacobson; New York H. Abrams, 1985); the French title is Les enfants dZzieu: une tragedie juive (Paris: Fils et Nles des deportes juifs de France, 1984). For a bio graphical portrait of Klarsfeld written at the time of the Barbie trial,see Laurent Greilsamer, “SergeKlarsfeld: Un militant de la mkmoire,”Le Monk, May 10-11,1987,p. 7. 35. For a close analysis of this complicated case, see Eric Conan and Henry Rousso: Vicby: Unpmsb qui nepmsepm (Paris: Fayard, 1994), chapter 3. 36. Bernard Droz and Evelyne Lever, Histoire de la guewe dAlgdrie, 1954-1962 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1982), p. 325. 37. In 2001, on the fortieth anniversary of the pro-FLN demonstration, the newly elected socialist mayor of Paris, Bernard Delanoe, silently dedicated a plaque ”to the memory of the many Algerians killed in the bloody repression of the peaceful demonstration of October 17, 1961.”The plaque is on the Pont Saint-Michel.Conservatives vigorously opposed the memorial, which was debated in a Paris Municipal Council meeting on September 24. A national poll suggested that less than one-half of the p o p ulation had even heard of the events of October 17,1961,and only one-fifthwas familiar with what had happened. See “Le massacre du 17 octobre 1961 obtient un debut de reconnaissance officielle,”Le Monde, October 17, 2001, p. 12. 38. h c Conan, Leprocks Papon: Unjournal d’audience(Paris: Gallimard, 1998), p. 314. Papon was released from prison on September 18, 2002 because of his advanced age and ill health. His release rekindled public discussion of the case. 39. Philippe Burrin, La France a I’beure allemande, 1940-1944 (Paris: Le Seuil, 19951, p. 44. 40. The inquest produced a twovolume report and nine volumes of documents
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and testimony. See Les dvdnements sumenus en France de 1933 a 1945, Rapport fait au nom de la Commissionpar Charles Sewe, 2 vols., and Tdmoignages et documents recueillispar la Commission denqubteparlementaire,9 vols. (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1947). 4 1. Text (“Transfer des cendres de Jean Moulin au Pantheon”) in Andre Malraux, Le miroir des limbes, pp. 990-997, citation at p. 997. the Chant des Purtisuns that I heard murmured like a sign of complicity, then chanted in the fog of the Vosges [a range of hills and mountains in northeastern France] and the forests of Alsace, mingled with the occasional bleating of the sheep kept by Moroccan troops [colonialtroops, fightingfor France],when the bazookasof Correze advanced on the tanks that Rundstedt had again thrown into action against Strasbourg.Hear now, my young compatriots, what was for us the song of misfortune. It is the funeral march of these ashes [Moulin’sremains]. Beside those of Carnot and the soldiers of the Year 11, beside those of Victor Hugo and the Mis6rubles, beside those ofJaurks over which Justice stands vigil, may they rest, they and their long line of disfigured shadows. May those of you who are young think today of this man as if you could reach out your hands to touch his poor face on his last day, his face beaten beyond recognition, his lips that had not betrayed on that day, his face was the face of France.
Correze is a ddpartement in central France; Tulle, mentioned earlier in this chap ter, is its capital. Gerd von Rundstedt was a German marshal. Carnot, Hugo, and Jaures are all among the grands hommes buried in the Pantheon. Camot (1753-1823) organized the armies of the Revolution.Jean Moulin died without giving his German torturers any of the information they were seeking. 42. See especially Robert 0. Paxton, Vichy France: Old Guard and New Order, 1940-1944 ,pp. 248-262 and 472-483. The use of untranslated terms is often indicative of social perceptions: no society wants to be in need of its own word for “underclass,”and the perpetuation of a large population of “workingpoor”through “workfare”and other policies is a part of the American model that the French wish to avoid. 5. In French, the word citd is typically used to denote a group of buildings set apart from some broader social unit: a citd universitaire, for example, refers to student housing (segregated from regular residential neighborhoods), and public housing developments are often referred to as citbs. Other expressions for troubled neighborhoods include quartiers ddshdritt%,quartiers difficiles,and quartiers dexil. Since in France (in contrast to the United States) central cities are prosperous while peripheral areas are often less advantaged, references to suburbs (banlieues)are often intended to suggest poorer neighborhoods.
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6. Matters pertaining to “identity”are not even considered appropriate objects of public comment. This may help explain why the French often seem so “private”or “reserved”to more gregarious American observers. 7. The expression recurs in political discourse, academic writing, and everyday speech. See Christian Jelen’sstudy of immigrants,Zl feront de born FranGais (Paris: Laffont, 1991) and Eugen Weber’s classic work, Peasants into Frenchmen: The Modernization of Rural France, 1870-1914 (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1976). 8. See Franqois Dubet and Didier Lapeyronnie, Les quartiers d’exil (Paris: L e Seuil, 1992). 9. Alain Touraine, “Facea l’exclusion,”Esprit, no. 169 (February 1991), p. 8. For a discussion of how the term exclusion entered the public vocabulary, see Serge Paugam, “Laconstitution d’un paradigme,”in Serge Paugam, ed., L’exclusion:l’ktat des savoirs (Paris: La Decouverte, 1996), pp. 7-19. 10. Franqois Dubet, “L’Exclusionscolaire: Quelles solutions,” in Paugam, ed., L’exclusion:l’ktat des savoirs, p. 497. 11. Poll cited in Serge Paugam, “La constitution d’un paradigme,”in Paugam, ed., L’exclusion: l’ktat des savoirs, p. 16. 12. See Robert Castel, Les mktamolphoses de la question sociale: Une chronique du salariat (Paris: Fayard, 1995). 13. The Znternationale actually combined demands for each version of systemic change: the oppressed would topple their oppressors,but in the new world, all would be equal. Thus the first verse ran: Debout! les damnes de la terre! Debout! les forqats de la faim! La raison tonne en son cratere: C’est l’eruption de la fin. Du passe faisons table rase, Foule esclave, debout! Debout! Le monde va changer de base: Nous ne sommes rien, soyons tout! The lyrics, which as usual lose in translation, are less familiar to Americans: Arise, ye prisoners of starvation Arise, ye toilers of the earth For reason thunders new creation ’Tis a better world in birth. Never more traditions’ chains shall bind us Arise, ye toilers no more in thrall The earth shall rise on new foundations We are but naught we shall be all. These words, sung at countless marches and meetings in the postwar decades, were familiar to generations of French men and women, which is another reason for including them here. 14. Daniel Mothe, “Les salaires ou l’emploi?”in Pierre Boisard et al., Le travail, quel avenir? new ed. (Paris: Gallimard, 1997), p. 83.
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15. Dominique Schnapper,LZpreuve du cbbmuge, new ed. (Paris: Gallimard, 194), p. 13. 16. Franqois Mitterrand, Ici et maintenant, conversations avec Guy Claisse (Paris: Fayard, 1980), p. 303. 17. Raymond Barre, cited in Renk Mouriaux, Crises du syndicdisme franGais (Paris: Montchrestien, 1998), p. 21. 18. These numbers should be viewed as lowend estimations. Most countries sys tematically undercount the unemployed. In France,for instance,someone who works for pay for one hour a week counts as “employed”-even ifthat person wants or needs full-time employment. 19. OECD [Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development], OECD Historical Statistics 1960-1997 (Paris: OECD, 1999), p. 45. 20. OECD, OECD Historical Statistics 1970-1999 (Paris: OECD, 2001), pp. 42, 45; figures for the 1980s and 1990s are standardized. 21. OECD, OECD Historical Statistics 1970-1999, p. 48. 22, OECD, OECD Historical Statistics 1970-1999, p. 48. 23. Roger Fauroux, &tats de sewice (Paris: Hachette, 1998), p. 68. 24. OECD, OECD Historical Statistics 1970-1999, p. 36. 25. OECD, OECD Historical Statistics 1970-1999, p. 38 for the figures for 1974 and 1979. 26. Louis Drin [pseud.],La sociktd fraqaise en tendances, 1975-1995, d e w dbcennies de cbangement (Paris: Presses universitairesde France, 1998), p. 51. 27. INSEE, La France en breL Internet ed. (Paris: INSEE, November 2001), p. 10. 28. INSEE, La France en breJ p. 10. 29. INSEE, Donnkes sociales: La sociktd fraqaise (Paris: INSEE, 1999),pp. 101f. 30. INSEE, France, Portrait social 1998-1999 (Paris: INSEE, 1998), p. 124. 31. INSEE, France, Portrait social 1998- 1999, p. 4. 32. INSEE, Donnkes sociales: La sociktk francaise, p. 180. 33. Cited in Dominique Schnapper,L’kpreuve du cbbmage, new ed. (Paris: Galh a r d , 19941, p. 133. 34. Cited in Schnapper, L’dpreuve du cbbmage, p. 100. 35. Cited in Schnapper, L’dpreuvedu cbbmage, p. 116. 36. Cited in Schnapper,L’kpeuue du cbbmage, pp. 107-108. Bicots is a pejorative term for North Africans; it has the same connotationsin French that the word nigger has in English. Street sweepers in France are overwhelmingly immigrants or of North African descent. 37. Franqois Dubet, Les lycdens (Paris: Jx Seuil, 1991), p. 214. The bracketed labels are mine. 38. Dubet, Les lyckens, p. 214. 39. See Grard Mermet, Francoscopie2001 (Paris: Larousse, [2000]),p. 305; Mermet puts the figure at 7 percent. For an analysis, see Rene Mouriaux, Crises du syndicalisme franGais (Paris: Montchrestien, 1998). 40. OECD, Social Expenditure Database, Public Expenditure, vol. 2001; available online through SourceOECD. 41. Peter A. Hall,“TheEvolution of Economic Policy,”in Main Guyomarch et al., eds., Developments in French Politfa 2 (Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire, U.K.: Palgrave, 2001), p. 189.
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42. INSEE, Donn6es sociales: La soci6t6 franGaise(Paris:INSEE, 1999), p. 115. 43. Franqois Mitterrand, Lettre a tom les FranGais, in Le Monde, April 9, 1988, p. 14.The Lettre was Mitterrand’s campaign platform. He released it on April 7,1988; Le Monde published the text in two segments, on April 8,1988 (pp. 7-9) and April 9, 1988 (pp. 12-14). 44. Claude Evin, the minister of solidarity,in a speech on October 4,1988, introducing the proposed law cited in Serge Paugam, La socfdt6franGaiseet sespauvres: l’exp&ence du revenu minimum dinsertion (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1993), p. 90.Evin is a socialist,but ardent and ardeur are favorite Gaullist words. 45. Foreigners and people under twenty-five are not covered by the RMI.Young people are excluded because they are normally covered by other programs. 46. INSEE, Donndes sociales:La socidtd frangaise (Paris: INSEE, 1999), pp. 406f. 47. Claude Allegre, Toute v&td est bonne a dire: Entretiens avec Laurent Joffrin (Paris: Laffontflayard, 2000), p. 23. 48. For an analysis, see Antoine Prost, Education,soci6t6 etpolitiques: Une histoire de l’enseignement de 1945 a nos jours, rev. ed. (Pans: Le Seuil, 1997), pp. 204-221. 49. INSEE, Donndes sociales: La socidtd frangake(Paris:INSEE, 1999), p. 96. 50. INSEE, France, Portrait social 1998-1999 (Paris: INSEE, 1998), p. 157. 51. INSEE, L’entr6e desjeunes duns la vie active (Paris: INSEE, 2000), p. 24. 52. INSEE, L’entrde des jeunes duns la vie active, pp. 13 and 20. 53. Franqois Dubet and Didier Lapeyronnie, Les quartiers dem.1 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1992), pp. 11 and 112. 54. Dubet and Lapeyronnie, Les quartiers dexil, p. 111. See also Dubet, La galhe:jeunes en survie (Paris: Fayard, 1987). 55. “Encolere apres la mort de Habib, des jeunes de Toulouse racontent leur vie dans les cites,”Le Monde, December 18, 1998, p. 10. The forty-one-yearaldpolice officer who fired the fatal shot was immediately suspended,but the investigating pros ecutor, by evoking the likelihood of “an accidental shot in the confusion of the moment” (see “Lesviolences ont dkborde les quartiers du Mirail des I’apresmidi de lundi,”Le Monde, December 16, 1998, p. lo), confirmed angry young residents in their convictionthat police violencewould always be judged more lenientlythan their own. At a demonstration in memory of Habib, one banner proclaimed: “Tropde justice pour un vol de voiture, pas assez de justice pour la mort d’Habib”(“Too much j u s tice for a car theft, not enough justice for Habib’s death”)(Le Monde, December 17, 1998,p. lo). 56. Franqois Dubet and Didier Lapeyronnie, Les quartiers dexil (Paris: Le Seuil, 19921, p. 179. 57. See Dubet and Iapeyronnie, Les quartiers dexil, pp. 199-228. 58. So described (“the great affair of the presidential term”) by prime minister Pierre Mauroy in July 1981;Mauroy cited in Pierre Favier and Michel Martin-Roland,La de’cennie Mitterrand,vol. 1,bsruptures (1981-1984) (Paris: Le Seuil, 1990), p. 172. 59. Jean-Claude Thoenig, “Ladecentralisation, dix ans apres,”Pouvoirs, no. 60 (1992), p. 6. 60. Yves Meny, “La Republique des fiefs,”Pouvoirs, no. 60 (1992), p. 18. 61. Meny, “La Republique des fiefs,”p. 18. 62. Jean-Pierre Chevenement, March 9, 2002, in “M. Chevenement lance a la jeunesse un appel a ‘l’effort,”’Le Monde, March 12, 2002, p. 8.
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63. In February 2002,polling institutes estimated support for Chevenement’scandidacy at between 8 and 14 percent of the electorate. His support began to drop in early March, about seven weeks before the first-roundvote on April 21. 64.For a sense of how citizenship regimes have varied across time and place, see: Christian Joppke, Immigration and the Nation-State: The United States, Germany, and Great Britain (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999),Rogers Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany (Cambridge, M A : Harvard University Press, 1992), and Patrick Weil, Qu’est-ce qu’un FranGais? Histoire de la nationalite‘ franGaise depuis la Re‘volution (Paris: Grasset, 2002). 65. See Yvan Gastaut,L’immigrationet l’opinion en France sous la Ve Re‘publique (Paris: Le Seuil, ZOOO), pp. 77-118. 66. Jacques Chirac, June 19,1991,statement made at a public dinner in Orleans, cited in “Le rnaire de Paris: ‘I1y a overdose,’”Le Monde,June 21, 1991,p. 40.Chirac’s remarks provoked a torrent of commentary from other political figures and journalists; see reporting in Le Monde,June 22, 1991. 67. See Valery Giscard d’Estaing, “Immigration ou Invasion?”Le Figaro Magazine, September 21,1991,pp. 48-57.The weekly Figaro Magazine was launched as a supplement to the daily Figaro in October 1978 under the editorial leadership of Louis Pauwels (born 1920),a prominent right-wing intellectual. The publication was virulently antisocialist and often lent its pages to the expression of views close to those of the National Front. 68. Chalandon in L’Ev2nement du jeudi, November 20,1986;see Yvan Gastaut, L’immigration et l’opinion en France sous la VeR6publique (Paris: Le Seuil, 2000), p. 548. 69. Pierre Chaunu, L’Express, October 24,1986,p. 20. 70. Under the constitution of the Fifth Republic, the president can send legislation back to parliament for reconsideration (Article 10). 71. Marceau Long et al., &re franGais aujourdhui et demain, vol. 2,Conclusions et propositions de la Commission de la Nationalite‘ (Paris: La Documentation franpise/Union generale des editions, 1988),pp. 235,234.In March 2001,Dominique Schnapper (born 1934)was named to the Conseil constitutionnel. 72.Jacques Julliard, “Lesmaisons d’intolkrance,”Le Nouvel Observateur, October 26,1989,p. 71. 73. Lionel Jospin, interviewed by Elisabeth Schemla, “Jospin: AccueiLlez les foulards!”Le Nouvel Obsewateur, October 26,1989,pp. 78-79. 74. Badinter’s works include Mother Love, Myth and Reality: Motherhood in Modm Histoly, trans. Roger DeGaris (New York Macmillan, 1981),&milie,&milie:l’ambitionfiminine au XWIIe sickle (Paris: Flammarion, 1983), The Unopposite Sex: The End of the Gender Battle, trans. Barbara Wright (New York Harper & Row, 1989),and XI: on MasculineIdentity,trans. Lydia Davis (New York Columbia University Press, 1995). 75. Debray’sautobiographical writings include Loub soient nos seigneurs: Une bducationpolitique (Paris: Gallimard, 1996).His political writings are cited below, in chapter 8. 76. Finkiekaut’s books include L a de‘fuite de lapensk (Paris: Gallimard, 1987) and La m6moire vaine (Paris: Gallimard, 1989), as well as two books written in collaboration with Pascal Bruckner: Le nouveau dbsordre amoureux (Paris: Le Seuil, 1977)and A u coin de la rue, l’aventure (Paris: Le Seuil, 1979).
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77. Elisabeth Badinter, Regis Debray, Alain Finkielkraut, Elisabeth de Fontenay, Catherine Kintzler, “Profs,ne capitulons pas!” Le Nouvel Observateur, November 2, 1989, pp. 58-59. 78. Jules Ferry, Senate, May 13, 1883, cited in Jean-Marie Mayeur, La question lai‘que, XIXe-XXe sickle (Paris: Fayard, 1997), p. 58. 79. Franqoise Gaspard, “Pensons a m musulmanes qui se battent!” Le Nouvel Observateur, October 26, 1989, p. 80. 80. Jean Daniel, “Le message code du ‘foulard,’” Le Nouvel Obsewateur, October 26, 1989,p. 70. Daniel, a menddsiste,was a central figure at L’Bpress in the 1950sand a prominent critic of French policy in Algeria. In 1964, he was a founding member of Le Nouvel Observateur.He became editor (“director”)of the weekly in 1978.Throughout his career, he sought to promote a better understanding of Arab issues among his readers. 81. Lionel Jospin, interviewed by Elisabeth Schemla, “Jospin: Accueillez les foulards!” Le Nouvel Observateur, October 26, 1989, p. 79. 82. Jean Daniel, “L’autrepari,”Le Nouvel Observateur, November 2, 1989,p. 60. 83. In Le Figaro, October 24, 1989, cited in Yvan Gastaut, L’immigration et l’opinion en France sous la Ve Rbpublique (Paris: Le Seuil, 2000), p. 586. Silvia Monfort was not just any actress. She was a veteran of the Resistance; her first husband, the philosopher and playwright Maurice Clavel(1920-1979), was one of its heroes. After the war, Monfort and Clavel were associated with director Jean Vilar (1912-1971) during the glory days of the Festival d’Avignonand the Thdhtre nationalpopulaire (T”), which tried to make quality theater accessible to ordinary people. In 1951, Monfort played Chimene to a r a r d Philipe’s Don Rodrigue in a TNP production of Corneille’s Le Cid. In the 1970s, she directed first the Gaite lyrique and then the Carre Silvia-Monfort in Paris. On Jean Vilar and the TNP, see Claude Roy,Jean Vilar (Paris: CalmannLkvy, 1987). 84. Lionel Jospin, interviewed by Elisabeth Schemla, “Jospin: Accueillez les foulards!”Le Nouvel Observateur, October 26, 1989, p. 79. 85. See analysis of s w e y data in Yvan Gastaut, L’immigration et l’opinion en France sous la Ve Rdpublique (Paris: Le Seuil, 2000), pp. 572-575. 86. Gastaut, L’immigration et l’opinion en France sous la Ve Rkpublique, pp. 591-592. 87. See Elisabeth Guigou, Unefemme a u coeur de l’dtat:Entretiens avec Pierre Favre et Micbel Martin-Roland(Paris: Fayard, 2000). 88. hsabeth Guigou, Pour les europdens (Paris: Flammarion, 1994), p. 50. 89. Jean Daniel, “L’autrepari,”LeNouvel Observateur, November 2, 1989, p. 60. 90. Lionel Jospin, cited in “Tous les responsables expriment leur ‘indignation,’” Le Monde, February 8-9, 1998, p. 5. 91. Jacques Chirac, in a eulogy for Claude Erignac, February 9, 1998, text in Le Monde, February 11, 1998, p. 7. 92. The law was named for Pierre Joxe, who was minister of the interior when it was passed. 93. On April 19,1999,police agents torched an illegal beachfront restaurant. Bonnet was implicated in the operation. 94. Lionel Jospin, “Mon pari pour la Corse,”Le Nouvel Observateur, August 17, 2000, p. 26.
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95. Two of the principals have given their accounts of what happened: seeJeanPierre Chevenement, Le courage de decider (Paris: Robert Laffont, 2002), pp. 91-106 and Olivier Schrameck, Matignon rive gauche, 2997-2001 (Paris: Le Seuil, 2001), pp. 143-163. Schrameck was a close advisor to Jospin; along with Alain Christnacht, he played a key role in shaping Corsican policy. For less partisan accounts, see Cecile Amar and Ariane Chemin,Jospin et Cie: Histoire de la gauche plurielle, 1993-2002 (Paris: Le Seuil, 2002), pp. 204-217 and Gerard Leclerc and Florence Muracciole,Jospin: Z‘enigme du conquerant (Paris: J. C. Lattes, 2001), pp. 121-124 and 142-150. 96.Alain Madelin (born 1946)created Demomutie liberale out of the ashes of the Parti republicain (one of the parties that had existed under the UDF umbrella) inJune 1997, after the right’s defeat in the parliamentary elections. Madelin had begun his political career on the extreme right, before becoming a free-marketeer and holding economic portfolios in the conservative governmentsof the late 1980s and 1990s. In 2002, he ran for president and won 3.9 percent of the vote. He later placed DL at the disposal of Chirac’snewly formed Unionpour la majoritdpr6sidentielle. 97. Jean-MichelRossi and Francois Santoni, Pour solde de tout compte, entretiens avec Guy Benhamou: les nationalistes corsesparlent (Paris: Denoel, 2000). 98. The prime minister’s official website provided a dossier on “l’avenirde la Corse,”and the dossier in turn offered a set of “Questionsreponsessur la politique du Gouvernement en Corse.” 99. See text of proposals in Le Monde, August 6-7,2000, p. 9. 100. See for exampleAdrien Gouteyron, “Corse:LionelJospin en apprenti sorcier,” Le Monde, August 10,2000, p. 6. 101. This was true of JeanClaude Casanova, editor of the influential periodicalCommentaire. Alain Madelin and Franqois Lkotard (UDF) also supported the Matignon process. 102. Conseil constitutionnel, Decision 2001-454 DC, January 17, 2002. 103. Jean-PierreChevenement,Le couruge de decider(Paris:Robert Laffont, 2002), pp. 100f. 104. Chevenement,Le courage de decider, pp. 96-106. Chevknement borrowed the expression “Munichinterieur” (p. 105) from Nicolas Alfonsi. 105. JacquesJulliard, “La loi de la peur,”Le Nouvel Observateur,August 31,2000, p. 55. lob. In its decision no. 91-290 DC of May 19, 1991, the Conseil constitutionnel struck down the first article of the Joxe law, which stipulated The French Republic guarantees to the living historical and culrural community that constitutes the Corsican people [lepeuple come],one element of the French people, the right to preserve its cultural identity and to defend its particular social and economic interests. These rights, tied to the insular nature of Corsica, are to be exercised in accordance with the principle of national unity and within the framework of the COnStitutiOn, the laws of the Republic, and the present Statute.
A number of other clauseswere also struck the rest of the law was allowed to stand. The Court’s argument on Article 1 is captured in paragraphs 12 and 13 of its decision:
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12. Consideringthat by the terms of the first paragraph of the preamble to the Constitution of 1958 “the French people solemnly proclaims its attachment to the rights of man and to the principles of national sovereigntyas defined by the Declarationof 1789, confirmed and developed by the preamble to the Constitution of 1946“; that the Declarationof the Rights of Man and of the Citizen thus invoked emanated from the representatives of “the French people”; that the preamble to the Constitution of 1946, reafhned by the preamble to the Constitution of 1958, affirms that “the French people proclaims again that every human being, without distinction of race, religion, or faith, is possessed of inalienable and sacred rights”;that the Constitution of 1958 distinguishesbetween the French people and foreign peoples, whose right of self-determinationis recognized that the reference to “the French people” has figured for two centuries in numerous constitutional texts; that therefore the juridical concept of “the French people” has constitutional standing. 13. Considering that France is, by Article 2 of the Constitution of 1958, une Rbpublique indivksible, laique, dhocrutique et sociule that guarantees equality before the law to all citizens regardless of their origin; that therefore the reference made by the legislature to ”the Corsican people, one element of the French people” is contrary to the Constitution, which recognizes only the French people, composed of all French citizens without dis tinction of origin, race, or religion.
107. Angelo Rinaldi, “11sne le lkheront pas!”Le Nouuel Observuteur,August 10, 2000, p. 34. 108. Rinaldi, “Ilsne le lacheront pas!”p. 34. 109. Jacques Julliard, “La paix oui, le chantage non!” Le Nouuel Observuteur, August 10,2000, p. 36. In the opening paragraphs of his article (pp. 35-36), Julliard emphasized the connection between the recent decisions on parity (examined later in this chapter) and the proposed solution for Corsica: Yesterday, by securing political parity between men and women, [the government] broke with the republican principle of remaining blind to race, gender, and religion. Thus it replaced the philosophical presumption of equality between individuals with the sociclogical affirmation of their differences. The “Republic”does not take note of persons or of groups. In contrast, “democracy”introduces forms of discrimination that, while positive, are nevertheless forms of discrimination. We were promised that the distinction between the sexes would remain an exception, because it is somehow generic. Dreams! No sooner had the principle of parity been voted than a petition demanded, not without foundation, that blacks be better represented on television. The republic of quotas had been born,and was displacing, under the approving eyes of an incontestable republican uospin], the universal republic of yesteryear. The same thing is happening with Corsica. . . . Lionel Jospin had made the restoration of order and compliance with the law the condition of reform. . . . Jospin was succeeding, with Chevhement’s help: confidence returned, attacks grew less frequent. Only the impetuous zeal of an excessively zealous and authoritarian prefect [Bonnet] allowed the nationalists to get back in the game. Something had to be done and, since past policies of secret negotiations had gone nowhere, the only solution was public negotiations. With a heavy price: the nationalists were assigned a legitimacy that the ballot box had always denied them. . . . The cowardly relief [Mcbe soulugement-a reference to Blum’s 1938 remark] that followed the ambiguous agreement, prompted by the idea of a prolongation of the truce, signifies that Lionel Jospin has won a battle. But I fear that he may have lost the war. The semiofficial recognition of the nationalists was not accompanied by any substantial reciprocal concession,other than the renewal of the truce, which can be broken at any moment.
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110. Julliard, “La paix oui, le chantage non!” p. 36. 1 1 1. Julliard, “La loi de la peur,” Le Nouvel Obseruateur,August 31, 2000, p. 55. 112. For a particularly interesting account, see Michele Tribalat, Faire France: Une a Decouverte, 1995). enqugte sur les immigre‘s et leurs enfants (Paris: L 113. The first article, “Alsace: quand les associations portent le flambeau de l’autonomisme,”appeared in the August 22, 2000 issue of the newspaper (p. 10). The implied argument of the series’ title notwithstanding, the editorial position of Le Monde was supportive of the “Matignonprocess.” 114. Statistics in Gisele Halimi, et al., La parite‘ duns la viepolitique:Rapport de
la commission pour la parite‘ entre les femmes et les hommes duns la viepolitique (Paris: La documentation franqaise, 1999), pp. 59-62. 115. Alain Juppe, interview in L’Express,June 6, 1996, p. 37. 116. Athens Declaration, November 3, 1992, at the conclusion of the conference “Femmesau pouvoir,” cited in Janine Mossuz-Lavau,Femmes/Hommes,Pour laparit6 (Paris: Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 1998), p. 36. 117. Conseil constitutionnel, decision no. 82-146 DC, November 18, 1982. Article 3 of the Constitution read as follows: National sovereignty belongs to the people, who exercise it through their representatives and by means of referenda. No section of the people, nor any individual, can arrogate to itself (or him/herself), the exercise of sovereignty. Suffrage may be direct or indirect, according to rules stipulated by the Constitution. Suffrage is always universal, equal, and secret.
Article 6 of the Declaration of Rights reads: The law is the expression of the general will. AU citizens have the right to participate, directly or through their representatives, in its elaboration. The law must be the same for all, whether it protects or punishes. All citizens, being equal in the eyes of the law, are equally admissible to all honors, functions,and public positions, according to their capacities, without any distinction other than that based on their virtues and talents.
118. “Manifestedes 577 pour une democratie paritaire,” Le Monde, November 10, 1993, p. 6. 119. For a precampaign statement of Chirac’sposition, seeJacques Chirac, “Le combat des femmes,”LeMonde,April 22, 1994,pp. 1 and 2. Chirac’sarticle was occasioned by the fiftieth anniversary of the enfranchisement of women. The same issue of Le Monde carried an article by Gisele Halimi in favor of parity (“Egalite = parite,” p. 2). Simone Veil, speaking at a commemorative meeting organized by Charles Pasqua, argued for a constitutional amendment and quotas (see “MmeVeil se prononce pour un quota de representation politique des femmes,”Le Monde, April 23, 1994, p. 11). 120. “Le Manifeste des dix pour la parite,” L’Express,June 6, 1996, pp. 32-33. 121. The Ten were: Michele Barzach (born 1943, RPR, a doctor by training, deputy minister for health from 1986 to 19881, Frederique Bredin (born1956, PS, minister for youth and sports in Edith Cresson’sgovernment), Edith Cresson (born 1934, PS, prime minister from 1991 to 1992), Helene Gisserot (born1936, a high-level civil servant and advisor to conservative governments on women’s issues), Catherine Lalumiere (born 1935, PS, successivelyminister for consumer affairs and European affairs between 1981
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and l986),Veronique Neiertz (PS, in charge of consumer affairs in the Rocard government), Monique Pelletier (born 1926,UDF, a deputy minister under Giscard from 1978 to 1981,appointed to the Conseil constitutionnelin 2000),Yvette Roudy (born1929, PS, deputy minister for women’s rights from 1981 to 1986), Catherine Tasca (born 1937,PS, minister of communications in the Rocard government and later minister of culture in Jospin’s government), and Shone Veil (born 1927,UDF, minister of health under Giscard and minister for social and urban affairs in Balladur’s government). 122. LionelJospin, ‘Dix ans pour y parvenir,’” interview in L’hpress,June 6,1996,
p. 36. 123. See Jean-Michel Apathie, “Sylviane Agacinski, de la philosophie avant toute chose,” Le Monde, December 15, 1998,p. 12;Sylviane Agacinski, “Contre l’effacement des sexes,’’Le Monde, February 6,1999, pp. 1 and 14;see also Agacinski’sbook, Politique des sexes (Paris: Le Seuil, 1998). 124. Lionel Jospin, June 19,1997;a ddclaration depolitique gdnkale is normally given at the beginning of a governmental term; translated into American terms, it is something like a cross between an inaugural address and the president’sannual “State of the Union” address. 125. For more on electoral systems, see appendix C. 126. In other words, a party may put a woman at the head of its list, then put three men in spots 2,3,and 4,and two women in spots 5 and 6,or it may put three men fmt and three women second, or it may alternate men and women, and so on. It can use one pattern for the first six spots on a list and another pattern for the next six spots. 127. See for example the floor debate in the National Assembly that followed the government’s presentation of the proposed amendments, Journal oficiel, Ddbats parlementaires, Assemblde nationale, December 15,1998,pp. 10496-10510.In February 1999,dilatory moves in the Senate nearly forced the government to switch to a referendum strategy. 128. “Saisine du Conseil constitutionnel par plus de soixante Senateurs,” May 5, 2000,paragraph A-3, reproduced in the documentation accompanying the Court’s decision, no. 2000-429DC, May 30,2000. 129. Both terms were used to heckle parliamentary speakers. Ringard is slang for “outmoded,old-fashioned.” 130. NathaIie Heinrich, “Les contradictions actuelles du feminisme,”Esprit, no. 273 (March-April ZOOl), p. 213. 131. OlivierDuhamel,“Guerirlemile park mal,”L’Express,June 6,1996, p. 39.The pun disappears in the translation: le mdle refers to the male gender; le ma1 means bad, evil. The expression translates roughly as “remedyingwhat is male by what is wrong.” 132. See for example Dominique Schnapper, “La transcendance par le politique” (March 20,1999), in Micheline Amar, ed., LepiBge de laparitd: Argumentspour un ddbat (Faris: Hachette, 1999),p. 112. 133. asabeth Badinter, “La parite est une regression,” interview in L’EvBnement dujeudi, February 4,1999,in Amar, ed., LepiBge de laparitd, p. 43. 134. Schnapper, “La transcendance par le politique,”in Amar, ed., LepiBge de la paritd, p. 1 15. 135. Mona Ozouf, “Unebienheureuse abstraction,”March 24,1999,in Amar, ed., LepiBge de laparitd, p. 154. 136. Dominique Schnapper, “La transcendance par le politique,”in Amar, ed., Le piBge de la paritd, pp. 1 12f.
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137. Catherine Kintzler, “La parite, ou le retour de la ‘nature,”’in Amar, ed., Le pikge de la parit&,p. 90. 138. Robert Badinter, in testimony to the Senat,January 26,1999, in Amar, ed., Le pikge de la parit&,p. 35. 139. Olivier Duhamel, “Paritesans principes,”L’Bpress,July 11, 1996, p. 29. The article concludes: “One should not employ the methods of apartheid to achieve a just goal.”Duhamel was an editor of the influential revue Pouvoirs, which he helped found in 1977, and coeditor of SOFRES’s annual Opinion publique. His works include La gauche et la Ve Rbpublique (Paris: Quadrige/Presses universitaires de France), 1993. 140. Elisabeth Badinter, “La parite est une regression,”interview in L’Evknement du jeudi, February 4, 1999, in Micheline Amar,ed., LepiBge de laparit&:Arguments pour un d&bat(Paris: Hachette, 1999), p. 41. 141. Badinter, “La parite est une regression,” p. 42. 142. Badinter, ”La parite est une regression,” pp. 42-43. This was indeed the type of argument that conservatives like Alain Madelin used to justify Corsican autonomy. 143. Daniele Sallenave, “Le piege de la parite,” Marianne, May 1997, in Amar, ed., Lepikge de laparit&,p. 23. 144. Sallenave, “Le piege de la parite,” p. 24. 145. Elisabeth Badinter, “La parite est une regression,”interview in L’EvBnement dujeudi, February 4, 1999,in Amar, ed., LepiBge de laparit&(Paris:Hachette, 1999), p. 44. 146. Jacques Julliard, “Les femmes ne sont pas des produits laitiers,”Le Nouvel Observateur, February 18, 1999, in Amar, ed., LepiBge de laparitt!, p. 61. 147. Olivier Duhamel, “Parite sans principes,” L’Express,July 11, 1996, p. 29. 148. hisabeth Badinter, “La parite est une regression,” interview in L’EvBnement dujeudi, February 4, 1999, in Micheline Amar, ed., Lepikge de Iaparit&:Arguments pour un d&bat(Paris: Hachette, 1999), p. 47. 149. Daniele Sallenave, “Le piege de la parite,”Marianne, May 1997, in Amar, ed., Le pikge de la paritk, p. 24. 150. See “L‘UMP,I’UDF et le PS mauvais eleves de la parite” and “La parite ridiculisee,”both in Le Monde,July 13, 2002, pp. 7 and 13. 151. Civil Code, Art. 515-1, as it now reads. 152. Interestingly,in the three cases brought, the higher courts reversed lower court decisions in favor of gay plaintiffs. See Daniel Borrillo and Pierre Lascoumes, Amours &gales?Le P m ,les homosexuels et la gauche (Paris: La Decouverte, 2002), pp. 25-30. The decisions themselves (quoted here) are excerpted in the Conseil constitutionnel‘s decision upholding the PACS bill, Decision no. 99-419 DC, November 9, 1999. 153. Bzicher means stake (as in where heretics were burned), so “Pedesau bQcher” can be rendered in all its ugltness as “Fry the fags.”“Pasde neveux pour les tantouzes” translates literally as “no nephews for the aunties,” meaning in this context “no kids for the fairies”(tante, aunt, is a vulgar word for a gay man). 154. Frederic Martel, The Pink and the Black: Homosexuals in France since 1968, trans. Jane Marie Todd (Stanford,Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1999), preface to the Enghsh-language edition, p. xix. This book, written by a gay journalist and activist, tracks gay activism before, during, and after the transformative period defined by the onset of the AIDS epidemic. It also analyzes and criticizes communitarianism within the gay community. Its publication in April 1996 (by Le Seuil) sparked a public debate.
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155. See Jean-Marcel Bouguereau, “Histoired’un outing avorte,”Le Nouvel Observateur, April 8, 1999,pp. 11-12. For an explanatiorVjustificationof forced outing, see Act UpParis, “Votrevie privee contre la n8tre,” Le Monde,June 26, 1999, p. 16. The pro-PACS RPR politician and AIDS activistJean-Luc Romero (born 1959)was outed by a gay journal in October 2000; see Romero, On m’a vole‘ ma ve‘rite‘:Histoire dupremier outing d u n hommepolitique franGais (Paris: Le Seuil, 2001). 156. Irene Thery, “Differencedes sexes et differencesdes generations:l’institution familiale en desherence,”Esprit, no. 227 (December 1996), pp. 68,65. See also Irene Thery, Le de‘mariage (Paris: Odile Jacob, 1993). 157. Thery, “Difference des sexes et differences des generations, p. 83. See also Thery, ed., Recomposer unefamille, des r6les et des sentiments (Paris: Textuel, 1995). 158. Elisabeth Guigou, National Assembly, Journal oflciel, De‘bats parlementaires, Assemble‘e nationale, December 15, 1998, p. 10499. 159. Evelyne Pisier, “Sexes et sexualites: bonnes et mauvaises differences,” Les Temps Modernes, no. 609 (June-July-August 2000), p. 157. 160. Pisier, “Sexeset sexualites,”p. 162. 161. Pisier, “Sexeset sexualites,”p. 166. 162. Pisier, “Sexeset sexualites,”p. 164. 163. Pisier, “Sexeset sexualites,”p. 164. 164. Privacy policies forbid the tabulation of different types of PACS couples. The statistics are an extrapolation based on patterns in other European countries. See Patrick Bloche and Jean-Pierre Michel, Assemblee nationale, Rapport d’infomzation sur l’application de la loi no. 99-944 du 15 novembre 1999 relative aupacte civil de solidarite‘,Document no. 3383, November 13, 2001. 165. Survey data from Frederic Martel, “La revolution du pacs,” in Olivier Duhamel and Philippe Mechet, eds., L’e‘tat de l’opinion 2001 (Paris: Le Seuil, 2001), pp. 199-208. The September 2000 poll was conducted by SOFRES for the gay journal Tetu. 166. Deviers-Joncour published her account of the affaufs) under the title La putain de la re‘publique (Paris: Calmann-Gvy, 1998). 167. For an analysis, see Yves Meny, La corruption de la Rt‘publique (Paris: Fayard, 1992). 168. Main Minc in an interview with Marcel Gauchet, “Leselites, le peuple, l’opinion,” Le De‘bat, no. 85 (May-August 1995), p. 66. Minc’s books include La machine e‘galitaire (Paris: Grasset, 1983, La grande illusion (Paris: Grasset, 1988), Le nouveau moyen age (Paris: Gallimard, 1993), Dew France? (with Philippe Seguin; Paris: Plon, 1994), L’ivresse dt‘mocratique (Paris: Gallimard, 1995), La mondialisation heureuse (Paris: Plon, 1993,Lefracas du monde,journal de l’annt‘e 2001 (Paris: Le Seuil, 2002), and two influential state commission reports: Rapport sur l’infomzatisation de la socit‘tt’ (with Simon Nora; Paris: La Documentation franqaise/Le Seuil, 1978) and L a France de l‘an 2000 (Paris: Odile Jacob/La Documentation franpise, 1994). 169. Two conservative candidates, Main Madelin (DL, born in 1946) and Franqois Bayrou (UDF, born in 1951) were younger, as were the communist candidate, Robert Hue (born in 1946) and the Green contender, Noel MamPre (born in 1948). 170. See “LAMux des candidatures pourrait favoriser l’extr6medroite,”Le Monde, June 9-10, 2002, p. 5.
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Getting Past Sovereignty: An Impossible Task? Sovereignty, the central organizing principle of modem French political life, seemed to be slipping from reach as the twentieth century drew to a close. In France, sovereignty is understood in two different ways, captured respectively by the expressions indpendance and indivisible. Zndbpendunce defines a relationship to the outside world, and de Gaulle helped make it a key word in France’spolitical vocabulary. It suggests not just the successful defense of the country’sborders, but also the ability to project power beyond them. Indivisible (the noun of course exists, but the adjective appears more frequently, as in the expression la Rkpublique une et indivisible) is a key domestic attribute of the republic. It is linked to the universalist values discussed in the previous chapter: it was the principle constantly at issue in the debates about headscarves, Corsica, and parity, and it was what made talk about la fracture sociale so charged. Together, indpendunce and indivisibility ensure state autonomy. Autonomy guarantees that the state will not serve as the hired gun of any particular interest: indkpendunce insulates the state against interference from external events and influences, and indivisibility prevents the cannibalization or tribalization of the state by domestic groups. The norms of independence and indivisibility are enshrined in constitutional law; more importantly, as should by now be clear, they are central elements of French political culture, with roots extending deep into the prerevolutionary period. The Constitution of the Fifth Republic makes the president “le garant de l’independancenationale” (Article 5 ) and authorizes him to assume emergency powers should national independence be in immediate jeopardy (Article 16). The first article of the constitution states that “La France est une Republique indivisible, laique, dkmocratique et sociale” and makes all citizens equal in the eyes of the law. The third article (cited in chap ter 7) locates sovereignty in the people as a whole and affirms that “No sec261
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tion of the people and no individual can arrogate to itself the exercise of sovereignty.”Article 27 forbids binding instructions on members of parliament, since such mandates would establish deputies as the agents of some subsection of the people rather than as representatives of the sovereign people as a whole; for the same reason, parliamentarians cannot be required to observe party discipline. At the end of the twentieth century, no hostile army stood poised on France’s borders and no domestic group (except a handful of Corsican extremists) denied the authority of the Republic. Yet sovereignty was not what it used to be: group politics had made important inroads, globalization was limiting the autonomy of states in and beyond the economic arena, and France’s ability to project power was clearly circumscribed. As we saw in the last chapter, relatively few people in France welcomed the new conditions created by social change and globalization. Responses ranged from the more or less intransigent defense of traditional republican principles to improvised, pragmatic solutions to specific problems. These alternatives reappeared as the French sought to come to terms with the end of indkpendunce. Nationalist claims and positions squared off against arguments that accommodated multilateralism and supranationality. The debates about ind6pendunce were not simply debates about the institutional framework of public life (more European integration vs. less)-important though that issue obviously was. Once again, these were debates about identity. Frequently, this meant that they were about the Franco-American relationship. “Theworld is changing,”Hubert Vedrine said, “but the changes are happening in English.”’Vedrine (born 1943, Mitterrand’s advisor and chief of staff before becoming foreign minister under Lionel Jospin, was a key figure in France’s foreign policy establishment during the 1980s and 1990s. The United States, Vedrine argued, had become a “hyperpower,”hegemonic not just militarily or regionally, but across the board and globally.2 France could not pretend to the same status, but it also differed from the few secondtier powers-Germany and the United Kingdom, Russia, China, Japan, and India-that could and did aspire to exercise influence and project power (not necessarily military power) beyond their own region. Albert du Roy, one of France’s best-known reporters, sought to account for the constant clash of words and wills between Paris and Washington and for the latent anti-Americanism common to the left and the right in France. “Franceis not the world’s number two nation by virtue of its power,” du Roy wrote, “but it is that by virtue of its ambitions.”3Like the United States, du Roy argued, France is a country imbued with a universalist ideology. Other potentially rival powers were inhibited from pursuing global ambitions: “GreatBritain by its long habit of transatlantic complicity,Russia by its domestic disorder, China by its underdevelopment, Germany by its past,”*but France was always ready to go headto-head with the United States. “Twouniversal vocations are in competition,”
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du Roy suggested, “withdifferent . . . means and objectives, but sustained by equivalent ambitions.”5In 1885,Jules Ferry had put the French logic this way: To light up the stage without acting, without intervening in the affairs of the world . . . , is tantamount to abdication. For a great power, it would mean slipping,faster than you might think, from the highest rank to the third or fourth. . . . One cannot propose to France a political ideal analogous to the ideal that animates nations like the free land of Belgium or republican Switzerland.France has other needs. She cannot be simply a free country. She must also be a great country,exercising over the destinies of Europe all the influence that is hers. She must spread this influence throughout the world, and take wherever she can her language, her customs, her flag, her arms, her unique character.6
But how, in an age of globalization, could France continue to be a “great country”?Franqois Mitterrand called the situation created by the end of the Cold War and the continuing process of globalization “un bonheur dangerew,”a great opportunity fraught with danger.’ He was confident that the multiple dangers of the new world could be tamed through a combination of multilateralism and supranationalintegration and that French identity would survive. More pessimistic compatriots retorted that twenty-first-centuryEuropeans would eat fast food, live in socially segregated societies,and fight America’swars-and worse yet, soon find all this normal. The most consistent and articulate exponent of this position was Regis Debray.8 Again and again, the acceleratingprocess of European integration triggered overarching debates about the meaning and relative advantages of independence, multilateralism, and supranationality. General arguments were then put to the test as the government and public opinion confronted specific policy challenges-notably the dissolution of Yugoslavia and the ongoing problem of providing social protection in a globalizing economy. Like many of the debates we considered in the last chapter, Franco-French arguments over Europe, Yugoslavia, and social protection disrupted normal patterns of partisan allegiance. The vehemence of the debates sometimes seemed to reflect the confusion and frustration of the actors, rather than a conflict between clearly defined and deeply contradictory views. The confusion was evident in the indeterminacy of positions: in the out-ofcontrol environment of a “runawayworld,”9few people seemed definitively immune to the appeal of defensive nationalism.The frustration was illustrated in a peculiar and recurrent mix of anger and apathy, as debates flared up and then died away. It was an important factor in explaining the electoral patterns of 2002: the fragmentation of the electorate, the high abstention rates, the support for Le Pen. Beyond recounting major developments in French foreign and European policy, this chapter seeks both to explain why defensive nationalism was such a temptation to broad segments of the political mainstream (that is, to people who rejected the National Front and would have been appalled to hear their
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attitudes described as bonapartist) and to explore the alternatives that were proposed. The reader must decide whether the stories told here suggest, on balance, democratic invention or, as the disappointed defenders of sovereignty would assert, a fuite en avant, a blind, reckless dash to get ahead of events. This is not simply an intellectual question: given the uncertainty of the situation, it is for citizens to act in ways that make democratic renewal more likely than decline. If this chapter makes both outcomes seem plausible, and if it helps readers-many of whom may hear their own hopes and hesitations about a changing world echoed in the debates analyzed here-understand the aspirations and pressures pushing in each direction, it will have served its purpose. The future is our common puzzle-and our common project.
RETHINKING THE MEANS OF FRENCH FOREIGN POLICY: SOVEREIGNTY, SUPRANATIONALITY, AND M U L T E A T F i ~ S M De Gaulle, as we have seen, put sovereignty first. He had no use for supranational institutions, and he viewed all multilateral arrangements with suspicion. In moments of generosity, he treated the partisans of European integration with biting contempt; in harsher moments (as during the debates over the European Defense Community), he suggested that their positions bordered on treason. He derided the “so-calledUnited Nations,” declaring in 1961 that France “doesnot wish to lend either its men or its money to any of the undertakings that this organization, or disorganization, might undertake, now or in the future.”lOHe pulled French forces out of NATO’s integrated military command (see chapter 4). By the late 1980s, putting sovereignty first had become much more difficult. Broadly speaking, two positions emerged. We will call the one most reminiscent of de Gaulle’sstance the Jacobin or souverainiste position.’’ We will call the other the Europeanist or multilateralist position. Both positions made the preservation of French identity a central goal. On the eve of the twenty-first century, Jacobins were inclined to experience change as decline, not because they were inflexible or conservative by nature or conviction, but because in a globalizing world, change often meant an erosion of state autonomy. Jacobins warned against assertions of group rights; they criticized European integration and French participation in NATO operations, contending that France’s cultural and political identity would quickly be lost in supranational organizations dominated by larger powers (the United States or Germany); and they criticized neoliberal economic policies and globalization. It was as though they had chosen their level of solidarity, once and for all, and it coincided with, and was institutionally dependent upon, the nation-state and the unitary republic.
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People who urged the construction of a more statelike European Unionone endowed, for example, with the authority and resources to carry out a common foreign policy-suggested that the souverainistes were clinging to habits of mind that would have the unintended effect of making the maintenance of French identity and values more, not less, problematic. Europeanists associated “tribalism”not with diversity or even group politics at home, but with resurgent nationalism, ethnic politics, and religious fundamentalism elsewhere in Europe and in the wider world. Tribalism beyond the borders of the Hexagon would, the Europeanists argued, prove doubly threatening unless effectively disciplined by new and more robustly institutionalized forms of international cooperation and action. Tribalism would make the international environment violent, unstable, and dangerous; worse, it would foster precisely the kinds of ideologies (religious fimdamentalism, to name the obvious example) that might then spread to France’sminority communities, making diversity untenable at home. Public opinion on these questions was canvassed in the Maastricht referendum (September 1992) and every five years at elections for the European Parliament (1994, 1999). The verdict was always ambiguous. People seemed perceptive enough to understand that there was no attractive alternative to more European integration, suspicious enough to deny the European Union (EXJ) the new powers its mounting responsibilities demanded, and then inconsistent enough to blame the EU for the impotence their own choices helped create.’* The public’s ambivalence did not reflect an automatic application of longstanding nationalist attitudes. Rather, it was a political response to the particular manner in which European integration had been pursued and to the policy results produced (or precluded) by the process adopted.
Europe: An Emerging Reality and a Debate Deferred For nearly four decades-from the rejection of the European Defense Community (EDC) in 1954 to the Maastricht referendum of 1992-French political elites deliberately kept Europe off the agenda of public debate. This was because both the mainstream political parties and the proponents of European integration stood to lose in any such debate, and together, they controlled the agenda. From the two-year controversy over the EDC-a debate that in many ways prefigured the later one about Maastricht-the mainstream parties concluded that discussions of Europe were too divisive to risk. The EDC project would have made political integration an instant (if still incomplete) reality for member countries. In addition to an all-European army, it would have created allEuropean political institutions: a bicameral parliament, an executive council,
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and a European court. The proposal did not threaten the internal unity of the political extremes: both the extreme right and the PCF were opposed to integration, although for different reasons. In contrast, the mainstream parties were internally fractured-and the bitterness of the splits reflected the importance assigned to issues touching on sovereignty. Only Christian democratic opinion was united in its support of the EDC, and French Christian democracy was too weak to drive European integration: by 1954, the MRP was in decline, and under the Fifth Republic, Christian democracy was no more than a loosely organized strand of centrist opinion. The decisive parliamentary vote on the EDC split the socialists, the radical socialists, and Mitterrand’s UDSR almost exactly in half, and the conservative parties were also divided.13 In the years that followed, the mainstream parties had little interest in reopening a debate in which passions ran high and which might well provoke intraparty splits. Within the mainstream parties, intraparty disputes over Europe pitted “federalists”against moreJacobin “intergovernmentalists.”Federalistsfavored the construction of a supranational political entity; intergovernmentalistsadvocated the development of intergovernmentalcooperation.In the EDC debate, the federalists made the case for the supranationaloption before the court of public opinion. They lost. French governments,first under the Fourth Republic and then under de Gaulle, subsequently resisted-and thereby effectively blocked-the construction of a supranational Europe. Intergovernmentalist versions of European integration, however, remained broadly popular with the French public. Economic cooperation in particular was seen as contributing to postwar reconciliation and peace and promoting the uncontested goals of reconstruction and prosperity. The treaty creating the European Coal and Steel Community was signed in 1951, and six years later, the treaties creating the European Atomic Energy Community (Euratom) and the European Economic Community (EEC) were adopted. With the EEC treaty in place, federalists focused their energies on the seemingly technical economic issues and policies related to the construction of a common market. The most important budgetary item of the EEC was the Common Agricultural Policy (CAP). The CAP was a complex system of price supports intended to increase agricultural productivity and production. In 1970, it absorbed almost 85 percent of the Community’sbudget;’* despite major reforms adopted in 1992, it continued through the next decade to account for almost half of all EU expenditures. During the 1960s, dozens of bureaucrats from EEC member states worked long hours in annual marathons to determineproduction levels and price supports for cereals, dairy products, and other agricultural goods. The results of these laborious negotiationswere of direct concern to France’s dwindling agricultural population, but they were hardly the stuff of which national debates are made. With the onset of the economic crisis at the beginning of the 1970s,the EEC
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focused on containing the disruptive effects of unstable exchange rates and in fact began moving toward monetary union. An early result of these efforts was the elaboration of the European Monetary System (EMS, 1979) and within it, of the Exchange Rate Mechanism (ERM). The ECU (short for European Currency Unit) made its appearance: its value was determined by a “basket”of European national currencies, and EEC countries participating in the ERM were to limit fluctuations in the value of their national currencies (the band within which currencies were allowed to fluctuate was known as the snake). As the future would show, the EMS was an important step toward European monetary union (EMU), but the objective importance of a policy does not necessarily make it interesting to the public. French elite education still emphasized classical languages and the humanities; its products were particularly unlikely to elevate discussions of exchange rate stability into a national debate. The Community’smain project in the late 1980s was the Single Eurupean Act of 1986, creating the Single Market (January 1, 1993). The project, which was developed before but implemented after the end of the Cold War, included political provisions, but it was presented to European publics primarily in economic terms, as a partial answer to the economic crisis: it would make Europe the biggest market in the world and so make possible a return to growth and rising standards of living. The implicationsfor state sovereignty were deliberately downplayed, except by England’s Margaret Thatcher, and she used such chauvinistic and conservative tones to make her argument that few people outside her own Tory circles were inclined to listen. Thus, step by step, European integration advanced significantly between the late 1960s and the late 1980s,but its progress was achieved by stealth. No group or public figure forced a reconsideration of the basic belief in the fundamental value of independence. The affirmation of independence remained the cultural bedrock of French foreign policy, irrespective of who was in power in Paris and despite all the changes underway in the international system.15 Just as importantly, no one proposed a set of values that European integration would express and serve. Peace had been a compelling motive in the 1950s, but by the 1970s, Franco-German reconciliation was a fact of life. Democratic consolidation in Spain, Greece, and Portugal served important values, but it was not a Communityproject. Prosperity-the reward promised by the Single Market-encouraged people to think instrumentally about the EC; it did not encourage people to see in the EC an authority structure legitimated by a common mission. The emphasis on the technical-and technocratic-aspects of European integration and the relative opacity of European institutions and policy-making procedures did more than merely defer a debate about the possible political purposes of a unified Europe; they also contributed to the increasing alienation of a number of key constituencies while deepening the general impression that the EC suffered from a “democratic deficit.” Workers sus-
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pected the EC of pushing a neoliberal agenda. In the business community and among economic liberals, in contrast, the Community was viewed as simply one more costly, counterproductivebureaucracy, out to gum up the free market. Examples of bureaucratic meddling (alleged or real) were widely cited: stories about directives regulating everything from bullfights to cheese made the rounds. European bureaucrats obliged their critics by relying on jargon that made the broader logic and utility of Community policies especially hard to grasp. Even groups that had clearly benefited from the EEC turned against it. French farmers,for whom the Community had done so much, were a good example. Thanks in part to the subsidies and protectionist measures of the CAP, European farmers increased productivity to the point where huge surpluses were piling up, while European consumers continued to pay food prices above world market prices. By the 1990s, when the EC moved to reform the CAP, the situation was no longer tenable. During the rural rev@ lution of the 1950s and I960s, farmers had been told to modernize; now, it seemed, they were being told simply to quit. They vented their anger against the Maastricht Treaty, which they associated with the free market capitalism that was doing them in. In democratic systems, power is supposed to be responsive and accountable; Community institutions, Europe’s critics argued (and Europe’s defenders generally conceded), were neither. The Community’sdemocratic deficit was a joint intergovernmentalist and federalist creation. The intergovernmentalists had no interest in vesting Community institutions and procedures with democratic legitimacy, since institutions with democratic legitimacy would be far more likely to usurp powers that the Jacobin intergovernmentalists thought properly belonged to sovereign states. The federalists did not seek to correct the democratic deficit, for fear of drawing attention to the growing de facto powers of the Community.They had consciously embraced the stealth strategy: by creating openings for EEC activity and seizing opportunities in policy areas that appeared technical, they hoped to set in motion an unstoppable dynamic. Beyond a certain level of economic cooperation, they reasoned, political cooperationwould become a necessity. At that point, institutional reforms could rectlfy the democratic deficit. The federalists did not figure on the anger that people often feel when they find themselves faced with a fait accompli; instead, they assumed that economic integration would create new, less Jacobin cultural reflexes and expectations and so develop incrementally the conditions for an eventual nonincremental move toward political integration. As a result of these diverse calculations,the would-be European superstate of the 1990s bore only superficial resemblance to normal democratic states. It had no constitution. Executive authority was parceled out among several bodies (the European Commission, the Council of Ministers, and the European Council), none of which was accountable either to the European Par-
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liament or to the European electorate. Beginning in 1979, the European Parliament could claim some measure of democratic legitimacy, since it was directly elected by voters in the Community’smember countries, but it had limited power over the budget and less power over the executive body, so its own enhanced legitimacy did not extend to the system as a whole.
The Maastricht Treaty The Maastricht Treaty, although itself an elitedriven initiative,was intended to redirect the dynamic of European integration in ways that would allow the Community, now rebaptized as the European Union, both to assume more of the tasks previously assigned to sovereign states and to correct its democratic deficit. Mitterrand sought to make European integration “a national undertaking” and he emphasized the historic character of the Maastricht Treaty: This international agreement commits France as a whole-State, nation, citizens. . . .After this treaty is ratified, France’s history will be different from what it was. This is therefore a decisive moment . . . even if we intend, as is of course the case, to preserve for France her history, the essence of what makes her herself, her message, and her institutions. . . . Nonetheless, a certain number of transfers of sovereignty will be added to those we have already consented to make.16
The world was changing anyway; Maastricht offered people a chance to take control. Mitterrand urged “a mobilization of consciousnessand will” on a scale commensurate with the tremendous challenge of redefining the institutional foundations of political life.17 The Treaty created three policy “pillars,”each with its own decision-making regime. Decision-makingprocedures had to accommodate multiple goals that were not always easy to reconcile, especially as the Union continued to expand. The goals included enhanced democratic accountability,efficiency, and guarantees that major national interests would not be violated by EU decisions. To achieve these ends, the Treaty assigned different policy areas to different EU institutions and made some policies subject to unanimous consent. Unanimous consent was a legacy of the intergovernmentalist tradition. Decision making by qualified majority vote (a vote that requires what Americans call a supermajority,i.e., more than a simple majority) represented a move in the federalist direction. The first pillar retained the old Community title (but in the plural, since various policy domains, like the European Coal and Steel Community and Euratom, were considered “communities”)and embraced most of the economic and infrastructural concerns that had gradually accrued first to the EEC and then to the EC: the CAP, the single market and monetary union, the development of Europe’s transportation network, and so on. In these “communitized” areas, qualified majority voting would be the rule. Policy proposals
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would be generated by the European Commission. Decisions would be made by the European Council and the European Parliament and could be appealed to the European Court of Justice. The second pillar showcased the federalist thrust of the Treaty. It created the mechanism for the development of a Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP). Despite longstanding intergovernmental mechanisms for foreign policy coordination, known as European Political Cooperation (EPC), the EEC as such had no foreign policy. In the new post-Cold War world of the 1990s, the CFSP seemed to many key leaders, and especially to Franqois Mitterrand and Helmut Kohl, like an idea whose time had come. But a common foreign policy approach could not be created overnight and by decree. Uncertainty and disagreement among member states over how the foreign policy posture of the EU could and should relate to NATO and the United States, along with the expectation that different national governments would continue to diverge in their assessments of international conflicts, led to the adoption of intergovernmentalist decision-making rules that emphasized state actors and gave the governments of member states veto power. Decisions were left to the Council of Ministers (that is, to the foreign ministers of member states, meeting as a body) and required a unanimous vote. No immediate action was undertaken to reduce the enormous disparity between the kind of military might the United States commanded (personnel, hardware, intelligence) and the military forces at the disposal of European governments. All of these complications would come into play during the Yugoslav crisis and again in the aftermath of the September 2001 attacks on New York and Washington. The third pillar acknowledged the increasingly international character of criminal activity and broadened the responsibilities and authority of the Union in matters of law enforcement and justice. While decision making on third pillar policy issues generally obeyed an intergovernmentalist logic, the expectation was that, as European integration deepened and European institutions gained legitimacy, more and more policy areas would be “communitized,” that is, transferred from the third to the first pillar. The drive to broaden the political competence of the European Union, symbolized by but not limited to the Maastricht Treaty, was Franqois Mitterrand’s most creative response to the momentous events of the 1980s and 1990s. The referendum of 1992 produced the public debate on Europe that had been so long deferred. It was seen by many as a debate about the survival of a French national identity. The questions it raised could only be answered by a future that was by definition still unknown, and so once begun, the debate could not be closed. De Gaulle had sought to make European cooperation a multiplier of French power by excluding Britain from the equation and by instrumentalizingGermany’s subordinate position. For him,the border that mattered was the one
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that separated France from the rest of the world. This approach was inconceivable in the changed circumstances of the 1990s. Mitterrand construed a unified Europe as a multiplier of French power; his strategy required him to blur the lines between France and its European partners. He constantly portrayed Germany as France’s indispensable partner, using language, encouraging symbols, and promoting agreements that challenged the relevance of the political border separating the two countries: he joined hands with Helmut Kohl to commemorate the dead of Verdun; he sponsored the Single Market, the Schengen agreements (dismantling border controls), and the Maastricht Treaty; he supported the Eurocorps, which was originally a FrancGerman brigade. For Mitterrand, France and Germany formed a “communautede destin” (a “communitybased on fate”) in the heart of a continent that likewise represented a community. De Gaulle had portrayed French unity as a victory of the French over themselves and their long record of fratricidal strife; Mitterrand portrayed European unity, anchored by FrancGerman reconciliation, as a victory of Europe over itself.18 European unity, Mitterrand argued, would provide Europeans with more physical and cultural security than any single European state would ever be able to command in the future. The world had never been a terribly reassuring place, and now it again seemed menacing: it meant organized crime, drugs, AIDS, civil conflicts, a succession of political and economic threats. “A common threat,” Mitterrand asserted, “callsfor a common response. The Maastricht Treaty. . . protects against this threat.”19The Treaty would provide physical security by offering an institutional structure broad enough and strong enough to check the reemerging “logic of fragmentation and division,”20born of both the disintegration of the Soviet empire and the ongoing economic crisis.At the same time, the size and dynamism of Europe’s internal market would make the European economy competitive with its American and Japanese rivals and would open up possibilities for social policies no longer feasible within national boundaries. The internal market would also contribute to the preservation of European culture: as Hubert Vedrine put it, Europeans would not be forced “to watch lousy American soap operas on Japanese television sets.”21 The choice,Vedrine suggested, was not between globalization and no globalization, but rather between “a controlled and fruitful globalization”and “an uncontrolled and destructive globalization.” The fight for the former, he argued, would be “the great struggle of our time.”22Europe would be a necessary element in that fight, and the French should strive to create “thegreatest possible degree of French influence in a Europe as strong as possible.”*3 The Europeanist arguments were powerful, but they were about possibilities, not achievements. The European Union was very much a work in progress, with member states tugging and pulling in different directions, and this in an environment that was, as the events of September 11, 2001 and
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their aftermath demonstrated, constantly changing. The proponents of deeper integration repeatedly asked their compatriots to make a leap of faith-or, alternatively, to bow to constraints that they conceded France was powerless to change. Intellectually, people seemed to understand that by itself, France could no longer hope to weigh in decisively on international questions. Gilles de Robien, a center-right politician, put the point brutally to an interviewer who asked if he thought that EU decisions about defense should continue to require unanimous consent or should be made by majority vote: “At the moment,” he replied, “defense policy is not made by either majority or unanimous votes. It is made in the United States.”2* Viscerally, however, people responded to headlines and events, and both seemed to suggest that the European solution to France’sproblems might be at best a false promise. Economic crises, especially when they are accompanied by international disorder, do not encourage optimism. “Our societies lack confidence in their future,” the Europeanist and socialist minister Elisabeth Guigou noted; “And Europe is nothing but future.”25The evidence seemed to bear out pessimistic assessments. Early efforts to use the European Community to reconstruct welfare state safeguards no longer viable at the national level foundered on opposition from the Conservative governments in power in Britain until 1997;we will return to the problems this posed for Europeanists in France later in this chapter. But it was the violent disintegration of Yugoslavia in the 1990s that grabbed headlines and made Europe seem, even to its supporters, like a bad joke.
”G
THE POSSIBILITIES OF FRENCH POWER
THE YUGOSLAV DISASTER In the 1990s,five wars were fought in what had been Yugoslavia: over Slovenian independence in the summer of 1991, over Croatian independence (1991- 1992), over the status of the Serbian area of Croatia known as the Krajina (off and on until 1995), in Bosnia-Herzegovina(1992-1995), and finally in Kosovo (1999). Hundreds of thousands of people died; millions were displaced. While television cameras rolled, Adriatic towns in which Europeans had vacationed were reduced to rubble. Women were raped; unarmed civilians were massacred; men and boys were herded into concentration camps. Governments deliberated and conferred; international bodies-the EU, the Western European Union (WEU), the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE, the group of countries that negotiated the east-west Helsinki accords of 1975,i.e., all European countries except Albania,plus the United States and Canada; renamed the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe, OSCE, in 1994), the United Nations-engaged in multiple peace missions, passed resolutions, and sent “peacekeeping”forces.
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France played a deliberately conspicuous role in all these efforts, often initiating the policies that were adopted. But the violence continued. Peacekeepers were deployed under conditions that often made them the unwilling accomplices of the very kinds of violence they were supposed to prevent. Serbia, to which France, England, Russia, and even the faraway United States had historical ties, was the most murderous of the parties and the one no other power seemed willing or able to bring to heel.
A “Problemfrom Hell” French policy toward the Yugoslav crisis showed remarkable continuity, even as elections over the course of the decade produced diverse power configurations in Paris: a socialist president and governments of the left until 1993, a socialist president and a conservativegovernment from 1993 to 1995, a Gaullist president and a conservative government from 1995 to 1997, and a Gaullist president and a government of the left from 1997 through the NATO campaign of 1999. The constant goal (though of course not the only goal) of French policy was to make France “seem greater than is actually the case.”26 The continuities of French policy need to be understood against the context of a very unattractive choice set. Domestic critics of French policy continually cited the “inconsistencies,the hypocrisy, the cowardly behavior”27 of western governments in general and of the French government in particular. The critics may, however, have mistaken confusion for cowardice. By 1991, when Europe and the United States began to focus on events in Yugoslavia, easy solutions-ones that neither challenged accepted rules of international conduct nor demanded the massive commitment of ground troops-were no longer available. Massive economic aid in the 1980s might have prevented the eventual recourse to nationalist politics in Serbia and Croatia, but European and American attention was directed elsewhere in the 1980s (to events in the Soviet Union, then to German unification, and finally, at the beginning of the 1990s, to the Gulf War), and in any event, the economic crisis did not encourage generosity. After 1991, the political, normative, and material barriers to effective action were prohibitively high. The many inconsistencies displayed by external parties in the unfolding tragedy did not reflect a simple failure of will, analogous to the capitulation of the western democracies at the Munich summit of 1938. In 1938, the democratic powers had ignored treaty obligations and allowed an independent state to be swallowed up by a hostile neighbor. The violent disintegration of Yugoslavia,in contrast, highlighted the absence of norms and institutionstailored to meet the problems of a new world. The inconsistenciesof western policy reflected the lack of attractive options and the simultaneous need to take action. Absent some sudden and dramatic change in interests, capabilities,and patterns of international cooperation,no
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external power could impose peace, much less a just peace (usually understood to mean a multiethnic, democratic confederation), in Yugoslavia. Given media coverage of the conflict, the often shocking character of the violence, and its proximity to the peaceful, prosperous, democratic world of Western Europe, however, European governments in particular could not afford to ignore a situation that was broadly viewed as morally unacceptable. Caught between the need to act and the inability to do so effectively, western governments waffled as they tried to deal with what American Secretary of State Warren Christopher called a “problemfrom he11.”28
French Policy In this unpromising environment, French policy was shaped by priorities that transcended the Yugoslav situation-thus the continuities across changes in the composition of governments in Paris and in conditions on the ground in the former Yugoslavia. French leaders remained faithful to the vision of greatness propounded by statesmen from Ferry to de Gaulle. The aim of French statecraft was to create at least the impression, and if possible the reality, that France was a great power at work in the world. Unilateral action was immediately excluded as both unrealistic (given France’s limited means) and illegitimate (since only the United Nations could authorizeintervention in the internal affairs of another country, and then only under special conditions). France therefore promoted supranationalor multilateral bodies, or both, in which its initiatives and policy preferences (rather than American ones) would visibly shape the approach adopted and in which American power would be disciplined by a coalition that included a pivotal French role. The policies France proposed and supported appeared forcefid, but always stopped well short of full-scaleintervention. No purpose would be served, Mitterrand never tired of saying, by “addingwar to war.”Yugoslavia needed peace and a political settlement, Mitterrand argued; it did not need yet another belligerent force. In accordance with this strategy, France tried in 1991 and 1992 to mobilize international organizations that could be instrumentalized as extensions of French power: the EC and the WEU. Within each, it advocated a two-pronged approach to the Yugoslav crisis. Diplomatic initiatives sought to bring the Yugoslav parties to the bargaining table and to obtain from them a consensual settlement. Except when they ratified “solutions”acceptable to the most powerful force on the ground (usually the Serbs), the cease-firesproduced were at best short-lived. Military deployments were also part of almost every French policy proposal, but in the absence of viable cease-fireagreements,the purpose of such deploymentswas never fully clear: no country was prepared to impose a cessation of hostilities (partly because of the anticipated high human and financial costs to the intervening powers and partly out of fear that intervention would cause the conflict to escalate and spread throughout and perhaps
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even beyond the Balkans) and “peacekeepers”could not “keep”a peace that had not been made. France could not secure unanimous EC support for either its diplomatic or its military proposals-and it could not afford to let intra-EC disagreements over Yugoslavia derail all-important final preparations for the Maastricht Treaty. To French statesmen,the success of the MaastrichtTreaty was far more critical to France’s long-term interests than any obtainable outcome in Yugoslavia. Yet the disagreements that emerged over Yugoslavia cast the viability of any future CFSP into doubt. The divergent approaches to the Yugoslav situation adopted by France, Germany, and the United Kingdom were not just random responses to a unique problem; rather, they indicated longstanding differences of interest. On the diplomatic front, France and Germany immediately split. In the summer of 1991, Germany’s Christian democratic-led government, under pressure from the Catholic Church and from the sizable Croat community within Germany, wanted to recognize the breakaway governments in Croatia and Slovenia,on the argument that swift recognition would discourage Serbia from attacking the new republics. France, supported by all EC members except Germany, argued that the integrity of the Yugoslav Federation should be preserved (this was also the position of the American administration).The French government understood that if the Croats and Slovenes left the Federation, the Bosnians would follow-and so would war, since Serbia, especially Serbia under SlobodanMilosevic, could not be expected to relinquish without a fight claims to territories where large numbers of Serbs lived. At the Maas tricht summit in December 1991, EC leaders agreed to make recognition of Croatia and Slovenia conditional on good behavior (respect for democratic rules, protection of minority populations, and the renunciation of force in border disputes). Germany, however, broke ranks and announced that it would recognize the new governments. Rather than appear divided (!), the other EC countries (including France) extended recognition to Croatia and Slovenia on January 15, 1992. Six weeks later, the Bosnians voted for independence; war promptly followed. While Germany resisted French diplomatic initiatives, Britain blocked any move to impose a solution by force. In September 1991, Serbian forces laid siege first to the Sloveniantown of Vukovar in eastern Croatia and then to the coastal city of Dubrovnik. France proposed the creation of a buffer zone to be patrolled by troops from the WEU. Britain refused. British policy, like French policy, was guided both by broad objectives that transcended the Yugoslav situation and by a specific reading of the Yugoslav disaster. The British were as eager to seek out American leadership and involvement as the French were determined to keep the United States at arm’slength. The British therefore rejected the institutional framework the French were proposing: the French favored the EC and the WEU, the British wanted to work through
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NATO. The British were also reluctant to send their forces into what looked to them like another Northern Ireland, only bigger, bloodier, and further away (just as Colin Powell, who had done two tours of duty in Vietnam, looked at the mountains of Bosnia-Herzegovinaand saw in his mind’s eye the jungles of Southeast Asia). France, frustrated in its efforts to unite its EC partners around a common position but still determined to demonstrate its own leadership capabilities, turned to the United Nations. Already in September 1991, France had moved in the Security Council for a UN-imposed anns embargo against Yugoslavia (adopted as Resolution 713). France could not expect to exploit the United Nations as an extension of its own power, but it could hope to use the organization to showcase its own powers of initiative and execution. It could take credit when its proposals bore fruit and shift blame to the United Nations when and if policies did not achieve their goals. French leaders never tired of reminding their audiences that France-unlike Germany-was a permanent member of the Security Council. At the same time, French commentators often joined the chorus of criticism that faulted the United Nations for its indecisiveness and its lack of means.
International Enorts United Nations diplomacy soon encountered the same fatal difficulties that had plagued European efforts to devise a solution to Yugoslavia’sproblems. Diplomatic moves had to accommodate diverse views on the Security Council (where Russia and China both opposed coercive intervention against Serbia) as well as the fact that the parties to the fighting were in no rush to settle their differences through a permanent settlement. Decisive military intervention was also impossible: the United Nations charter did not offer a clear mandate for such a mission, and in any event, member nations were not prepared to commit the necessary military resources. Yet the horrors of ethnic cleansing demanded some response. The United Nations created a limited force with an illdefined mission. At its inception in late February 1992, the United Nations Protection Force (UNPROFOR) was intended for deployment in Croatia, where a settlement had left Serb forces in control of areas they had occupied (and “cleansed”).As fighting intensified in Bosnia, however, UNPROFORs mandate was extended to Bosnia. Officially, it was not supposed to take sides. It became a spectator to atrocities it could not stop, and ensuring the safety of its personnel, rather than of the civilians its presence was supposed to protect became a major headache for political decision makers. Worse still, UNPROFOR forces were easy targets for Serb forces, and fear that UNPROFOR troops would be injured or taken hostage became an argument against more forceful intervention to defend civilian populations.
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Unable to keep a peace that had not been made, incapable of creating a peace that the Serb leadership in particular did not want, UNPROFOR was increasingly reduced to humanitarian intervention-and not very effective humanitarian intervention at that. Its forces escorted convoys of food and medicine to besieged cities, but as the grisly debacle at Srebenica in July 1995 demonstrated, United Nations forces could not even protect the “safeareas” designated in April and May of 1993. The deployment to Bosnia of a 10,000man Franco-BritishRapid Reaction Force in July 1995 still failed to address the problem of rules of engagement that precluded proactive moves to stop Serb outrages and advances. In the end, the French supported what they least wanted American-led intervention outside the authority of the United Nations. In 1994, NATO began to take the initiative. In May 1995, the Serbs responded to air strikes by taking UNPROFOR troops hostage and using them as human shields. Another round of fruitless negotiations followed, while at the same time, the external parties considered their military options. On August 30,1995, NATO finally launched Operation Deliberate Force. There was no NATO ground campaign, but there was a ground war: Bosnian forces went on the offensive, and the Croats also moved against the Serbs, both in the Krajina and in Bosnia. The air strikes lasted for two weeks. In midOctober, a cease-fire took effect. On December 14,1995, the Dayton Accords were signed in Paris, and as the year ended, a NATO-led Implementation Force (IFOR) deployed to Bosnia. The Dayton Accords reproduced the main elements of a plan proposed by Alain Juppe and Klaus Kinkel (respectively the foreign ministers of France and Germany) and endorsed by the EU in November 1993, but no results had been achieved until the United States made the proposal its own and brought its might to bear on Serbia. The Dayton Accords did not provide a particularly honorable solution to the Bosnian war, and they did not end the Yugoslav crisis. Conditions in the onceautonomousSerb province of Kosovo, a place the British journalist H. N. Brails ford had memorably called “themost miserable corner of Europe,”*9had been deterioratingfor years. In the Titoist period, Serbs had represented a shrinking minority in the impoverished province; by 1981, Serbs made up 13.2 percent of the population, while Albanians accounted for 77.4 percent. Kosovo, however, occupied a privileged spot in Serb nationalist mythology: in 1389, Serb forces had been defeated there by advancing Turkish armies. Slobodan Milosevic (born 1941), a former communist apparatcik, had ridden ethno-nationalist rhetoric to power in the late 1980s, fabricating fear and hate to serve his own interests. He had staked his claim to legitimacy on the construction of a greater Serbia. In 1989,he stripped Kosovo of its autonomy and began reinforcing Serb control over the provincial police and government. Over the course of the 1990s, faced with a local population in Kosovo that wanted either independence or incorporation into Albania, Milosevic stepped up the level of intimi-
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dation and repression. The de facto leader of the Albanian Kosovars, Ibrahim Rugova, pressed unsuccessfully for international support and a political solution. In the absence of a political settlement,the Kosovo LiberationArmy (KU) emerged in 1998as an effective guerilla force. The Serb response grew increasingly brutal and was seemingly calibrated to induce the fight of as many Albanians as possible. Western governments were opposed on principle to Kosovar independence and remained unwilling to intervene massively on the ground to force an end to Serb policies. As in earlier episodes of the Yugoslav tragedy, no western government individually had a viable strategy, and western governments collectively were intellectually; institutionally, and politically ill-prepared to deal with the crisis. The United Nations could not intervene because of Russian and Chinese opposition. The EU countries, France now included, recognizing their own ineffectiveness, were eager to involve the United States. Immediately placed in a leadership position, the U.S. administration “never decided what it was prepared to do, except incrementally and reactively”; western governments generally “proved unwilling or unable to set political objectives and to consider how far they were prepared to go to achieve them militarily.”30A report prepared for the British House of Commons a year after the military campaign concluded that “NATOwas not itself clear about what it was trying to do.”31 On January 15, 1999, Serb forces massacred civilians at Racak, virtually under the noses of OSCE observers. A peace conference at Rambouillet (France) in February 1999 dragged into March and failed to produce a diplomatic resolution to the conflict. A proposed settlement would have granted de facto autonomy to Kosovo and guaranteed NATO forces access to Serbia. The Serbs refused to sign. On March 24,1999, Operation Allied Force began. The seventy4ghtday campaign was conducted largely on American terms, and by most accounts, it was “atextbook case of how not to wage war.”32The Allies expected Milosevic to yield as soon as the bombs began to fall. Instead, he stepped up repression on the ground, provoking a mass exodus of Albanian civilians, who headed for the mountains or the borders. Some 90 percent of the Albanian Kosovar population was affected-well over a million people.33 A campaign intended to end a humanitarian crisis had unexpectedly compounded it. The American administrationwas deeply divided on the issue of a possible ground war, but since Bill Clinton was on record as opposed to the commitment of ground troops, NATO in effect had no back-up strategy. For all its mistakes, NATO achieved a victory of sorts in Kosovo, and the French had some reason to be satisfied with the shape of the settlement. Public support in NATO countries for the operation was reinforced by Serb persistence in an apparently preplanned campaign of ethnic cleansing. As military and civilian leaders in western capitals began to evoke the possibility of a ground war, diplomatic efforts to force Milosevic to capitulate intensified.
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France wanted a resolution that Russia could accept and that would recast the NATO operation as an action undertaken on behalf of the international community. The United States was more inclined to use Operation Allied Force, which coincided with the fiftieth anniversaryof NATO’s birth, as a demonstration of NATO’s new mission in the post-Cold War world. At the NATO summit in late April, the French argued successfully for a declaration acknowledging the authority of the United Nations. A German initiative in the context of a G8 summit meeting in May brought the major powers together in uneasy agreement around a common peace proposal. The Serbs accepted the G-8 proposal in early June. The peace plan provided for the withdrawal of Serb military forces and the safe return of refugees, with both to be guaranteed by the presence of internationalforces. Formally, Kosovo would remain part of Serbia,but it would enjoy autonomy on a scale that suggested independence. On June 10, NATO suspended its operations; the same day, the United Nations Security Council adopted Resolution 1244, creating the United Nations Interim Administration Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK). The United Nations assumed direct responsibility for civil administration and humanitarian relief in the province; it delegated responsibility for reconstruction to the EU, for institution building to the OSCE, and for security to NATO. From the long, sorry, and painfully visible Yugoslav tale of European impotence and American intervention, Europeanists concluded that a CFSP was an urgent necessity, but one still far removed from reality. The EU’s main powers-France, Germany, and the United Kingdom-had failed to maintain a common front, instead serving different national interests and harboring conflicting perceptions of American power. Even if the EU had not been plagued by divisions, its material capabilities were dwarfed by the enormous American military establishment.Jacques Delors suggested that as the Yugoslav disaster had unfolded, Europe had been “like an adolescent faced with an adult crisis.”3*Presumably, the adolescent would grow up. “Itwill take time,”Elisabeth Guigou conceded; “Allthe more reason to get started.”35 The critics of European integration,however, drew a different lesson from Europe’s performance in the Yugoslav crisis. They concluded that the EU would never-could never-achieve political maturity. For some critics, the Yugoslav debacle seemed to confirm a preexisting skepticism, a kind of closet hostility to a supranational Europe. Already in September 1992, the public intellectual Bernard-HenriLevy (born 1948) had had to force himself to vote oui in the Maastricht referendum. He told himself stories about what France might look like in 2029 if Maastricht’s opponents ~ 0 n , 3 6he reminded himself of the unattractive company in which he would land if he voted non (“De Villiers is horrible. Le Pen is abject. Chevenement is unbearable. And the communists!”37),and in the end, he resigned himself to what seemed a futile gesture, voting in favor of a Europe he feared would never exist. He assumed that other Europeans shared the “contempt”he felt for Europe.
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How can it be mitigated in view of this spectacle?How can such a Europe aspire to respect, or even to consent?I’ll vote yes, of course. But without enthusiasm. Without fervor. Out of conformism, really. Or. . . because things would be still worse if the process [of integration]were to be interrupted.But at the same time, I know that a Europe unable to act in Bosnia and to defend its values is a Europe without a soul, whose worth has been corrupted-a Europe dead before it was ever properly born.38
All this was a far cry from the “mobilizationof will” that Mitterrand had hoped Maastrichtwould provoke. Instead, the Yugoslav crisis revealed a complex divorce in France between governmental actors and public opinion. Differently situated actors responded differently to the objective limits on French power. Political decision makers, regardless of their party affiliation, were unanimous in their cautious, pragmatic response to the Yugoslav crisis and uniformly caught in the contradictionscreated by their rhetorical emphasis on human rights and their practical understanding of France’s long-term interests and capabilities. The public at large did not like what it saw, either in Yugoslavia or in Paris. Left-wingintellectuals were particularly articulate in expressing their dissent, but there were significant divisions among the dissenters. Some attacked the government (whatever government happened to be in power) for failing to defend democratic values and human rights. Others criticized the country’s political elites for abandoning the imperatives of indkpendance and bowing to American leadership. Both positions, while substantivelyquite different (the former ostensibly more Europeanist;the latter more Jacobin), used the language of defensive nationalism to make their points. The argument about rights was most clearly illustrated in a debate occasioned by the European Parliament elections of 1994; the argument about indkpendance was made during the Kosovo campaign of 1999. Both lines of criticism later conditioned the French response to the events that followed the September 2001 attacks on New York and Washington.
The Public Response: Defining French Identity on the International Stage The lack of options available to external actors did not reduce the level of outrage that the violence in Yugoslavia provoked once it began. As television brought the wars in Croatia, Bosnia, and finally Kosovo into their living rooms, European publics were appalled not just by the sight of refugee columns and civilian casualties, but by the spectacle of their own diplomats repeatedlymeeting with (and making concessions to) people who seemed fairly described as murderers and war criminals. In part for historical reasons, cowardice seemed a more compelling explanation for this behavior than did confusion. “Theeye sees,” Andre Glucksman wrote, “and history provides the subtitles.”39Trials
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were one way that late-twentieth-centuryEuropean, and above aIl French, publics relived the traumas of World War II; Yugoslavia was another. Indignation was especially deep in France, where survey data suggested overwhelming and informed public support for “the politics of rescue,” or what the French call le droit ding6rence (the right to interfere).@A poll conducted in the middle of the Kosovo campaign indicated far greater support (78 percent in favor, 15 percent opposed) for intervention to alleviate the effects of civil war than for intervention in fulfillment of treaty obligations(56 percent in favor, 34 percent opposed). The support was not limited to empty affirmations of principle: of those polled, a narrow majority believed that a ground war would be necessary in Kosovo, and 60 percent of the total sample supported sending French ground forces into combat should air power fail to halt Serb repression in the province.41
The Politics of Humanitarian Intervention The consensus around the principle of humanitarian intervention initially included both the political class and the public and was the product of a confluence of diverse factors linked to the end of the Cold War and to more permanent traditions within French political and legal culture. In the 1980s, the declining appeal of the communist model and the erosion of Soviet power depoliticized the way foreign conflicts were understood: wars (civil or otherwise) were more readily viewed as human catastrophes than as political contests. During the Cold War, the superpowers had often turned local conflicts into proxy fights in their own confrontation. As the Cold War ended, that interpretive lens was replaced by a new one, which showed oppressive, corrupt, and/or incompetent power structures inflicting senseless suffering on innocent populations. The new interpretation invited disinterested, “humanitarian” intervention, while the end of the Cold War lowered the risks, since intervening in the domestic affairs of another state would no longer trigger a superpower confrontation. In standard accounts of international relations, humanitarian intervention is both unlikely and problematic. It is unlikely because it requires states to place the protection of human rights among their vital interests-comparable in importance to the security of their borders or their energy supplies. It is problematic because it conflicts with the principle of state sovereignty.To its critics, humanitarian intervention looks like imperialism or power politics in disguise: an alleged violation of human rights within country x (usually poor and militarily weak) becomes a pretext for country y (usually rich and militarily powerful) to intervene, ostensibly to protect the rights of a civilian population, but in fact to further its own material or ideological interests. Even when humanitarian intervention does not provide an excuse for imperialism, the critics argue, it introduces instability, unpredictability, and disor-
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der into an international system already dangerous enough-and it does so even as it opens the door to foreign policy conducted on the basis of media coverage and public emotion. For whatever reasons (quite possibly different from case to case), some humanitarian disasters go virtually unnoticed, while others capture media attention. In the latter case, indignant audiences demand governmental action. When the disaster is a flood or an earthquake, the dangers associated with relatively uninformed and unplanned operations may be limited. When the disaster is a civil war (or is compounded by a civil war), however, the potential for complications and untoward consequences increases significantly. Whatever their intellectual merits, these arguments, familiar to anyone who has taken a course in international relations, were politically weak in France, and never more so than in the final years of the twentieth century. From the French Revolution to the Dreyfus Affair to the “Touchepas a mon pote” buttons of SOS-Rucismein the 1980s, the language of universal rights had been the language of the republic. The domestic use of that language was becoming contentious: it collided with new ways of thinking about cultural diversity and the assertion of group rights. Humanitarian intervention involved taking the familiar language of universal rights abroad, to situations where it seemed less problematic: in countries most likely to witness manmade humanitarian emergencies,the violation of individual rights often coincided with the violation of the rights of minority communities.As the century ended, defending human rights abroad was consensual in France the way promoting open markets abroad was consensual in the United States. The ideological consensus around humanitarian action was reinforced by considerationsgrounded in power politics. De Gaulle had exercised a kind of power by criticizing or inconveniencing countries with which France was not otherwise in a position to compete, and he had looked to maintain or expand French influence in countries that the superpowersignored or where they were unwelcome. For de Gaulle’ssuccessors,humanitarian intervention opened up possibilities for both strategies. France could criticize the United States for sacrificing human rights to more classic calculations of political interest (for example in the Persian Gulf), and it could establish itself as a player in places the United States was happy to neglect. Finally, embracing k droit ding&ence offered the French intelligentsia an opportunity to reestablish its authority on the left, after a brief and relative absence from the public scene in the early 1980s.42 The victory of the socialist-communist coalition in 1981 and the economic policies of the government between 1981 and 1983 were the last acts in a finishing left-wing drama: by 1984, the policies would change and the communists would leave the government. During the linal scenes of the play, however, the coalition reminded French intellectualsof a past they retrospectivelyfound uncomfortable. From the early 1930s through the 1970s, left-wing intellectualsin France
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had by and large declined to denounce communism in general or the Soviet Union in particular. Many distinguished intellectuals, artists, and performers belonged at some point and for some period of time to the PCF. For some, the commitment was enduring: the philosopher Louis Althusser (19 18- 1990), lionized by generations of normuliens, joined in 1948 and never left. The poet Louis Aragon’s commitment was similarly permanent. For others, PCF membership was more ephemeral: in June 2001, while discussing Lionel Jospin’s extended involvement with a TrotskyM party, Le Monde referred to excommunists as France’slargest party.43 Those who joined and left included the filmmaker Alain Resnais (night and Fog, Hiroshima mon amour) and academics like Edgar Morin, Maurice Agulhon, Annie Kriegel, and Frangois Furet.44 Many intellectuals who never joined the PCF were sympathetic “fellow travelers.” Prominent among them were the philosopher and editor of Les Temps Modemes, Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980), the actress Shone Signoret (1921-1985) and her singer-actorhusband, Yves Montand (1921-19!91), and scores of other artists and intellectuals. Even among the deserters and the recalcitrant, few were willing to condemn communism unequivocally. To most Americans and to many French people who came of age during or after the 1980s, the magnetic pull that brought intellectually brilliant, artistically creative men and women into the orbit of Western Europe’s most Stalinist communist party remains a puzzle.45 Viewed in historical context, however, the seductive power of an objectively ugly party seems less odd. France’s pattern of political development made its cultural elites vulnerable to communism. Tocqueville had described French intellectuals as “addicted to general ideas and systems, . . . contemptuous of the wisdom of the ages”;& Marx and/or communism satisfied the addiction. In a country whose educational system gave pride of place to philosophical argument, Marx was bound to occupy a place of honor. In the first decades of the twentieth century, the greatest historians of the French Revolution (e.g., Georges Lefebvre) were Marxists; they portrayed the French Revolution as a precursor to the Russian Revolution, thus contributing to the image of the latter as part of a broader story about progress and the affirmation of human rights. More immediate political experiences and priorities reinforced a predis position to view communism favorably. For many intellectuals whose lives had been shaped by the struggle against fascism,the PCF and the Soviet Union retained the aura they had acquired in the fight against Hitler. The PCF seemed to represent the political best chance of France’s disempowered workers, making support for it a temptation for anyone critical of capitalism and interested in social justice. PCF membership offered a way of dissenting from colonial entanglements and wars, both French and American. Finally, French anticommunistsdid not make for attractivecompany in the 1950s and 1960s. Liberal anticommunism, so common in the United States, was relatively rare in France-despite the articulate and well-publicized positions of
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men like the philosopher Raymond Aron and the Catholic writer Franqois Mauriac, both of whom wrote influential columns for important journals.47 Anticommunism had driven countless French conservatives (and some former leftists) into Vichy’s arms, and after the war, those conservatives continued to set the tone of anticommunist discourse. Anticommunism, in other words, often went hand-in-handwith latent or overt hostility to republican values and institutions. The antidemocratic proclivities of communism’s opponents in turn reinforced the “antifascist”credentials of the communist movement. The sea change came in the late 1970s. Quite suddenly, communism ceased to be intellectually or politically fashionable. The new orientation was the product of generational change, new intellectual fashions (Foucault or Tocqueville rather than Mam49, and the declining numerical and political importance of the working class. The catalyst for the change was the publication in French, in 1974, of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’saccount of the Soviet prison camp system, m e Gulag Archipelago. As if overnight, the French intelligentsia “discovered”the repressive character of the Soviet regime. Anticommunism became the new orthodoxy, preached in particular by the “new philosophers” (among them Bernard-Henri Levy and Andre Glucksman), some of whom (in particular Levy) proved especially talented at gaining and using the attention of the media. The new orthodoxy conflicted with the electoral strategy and rhetoric of the left, which emphasized unity despite all the obvious tensions between the PS and the PCF. The left that won in 1981 was thus a left with which many otherwise left-wing intellectuals preferred not to identrfy; the intellectuals were uncomfortable with the government’s predominantly “first-left’’orientation. Their alienation was particularly patent on December 14, 1981, when Claude Cheysson, the foreign minister, rejected any possibility of interfering in the domestic affairs of Poland, where General WojciechJaruzelski had just declared martial law in an effort to shore up communist rule against the rising tide of reform led by the trade union S0lidarity.~9 During the two weeks that followed, the French government groped for a morally tenable position that would neither jeopardize the PS-PCF coalition in Paris nor further enflame the situation in Poland. Meanwhile, intellectuals mobilized to express their support for Solidarity and their disgust with the cautious response of their government. On December 2 1, an extraordinarily long and distinguished list of intellectuals-many of them former communists or fellow travelers-put their names on a statement that specifically evoked the right to interfere in the domestic affairs of a repressive state: The principle of nonintervention must not lead to non-assistance.. . . We must stop conceptualizing the Polish situation solely in terms of geostrategic constraints, state-testate or bloc-tebloc relations. This way of thinking minimizes
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the rights of man, the rights of people, the influence of public opinion, international solidarity. We cannot accept a permanent division of Europe that would deny a democratic future to Poland and to the other countries under Soviet domination.50
By the late 1980s, changes in the international system and in the partisan landscape had attenuated the tensions between the left in power and the intellectual left. The “first left” was in disarray, governments were emphasizing the need for ouverture, and politicians followed academics in hoping that civil society might produce possibilities for democratic renewal. The PS no longer had any reason to resist the new appeal of humanitarian intervention, for which intellectualsand organizations like Mbdecins sansfronti6res (Doctors without Borders) became the advocates. Bipartisan elite support for humanitarian action was symbolized by the joint attendance of President Mitterrand and Prime MinisterJacques Chirac in January 1987 at a conference sponsored jointly by Mbdecins du Monde and the law school of the University of Paris-Sud and led by Bernard Kouchner and Mario Bettati, dean of the Paris-Sud law school and a specialist in international law. Kouchner (born 1939) was a politicallypopular figure in France, where he was well known as founder of both Mbdecins sans fronti6res and Mbdecins du Monde and as a prominent advocate of humanitarian intervention.51 Between 1988 and 1993, he would serve first as minister of state for humanitarian action and then as minister of health and humanitarian action, frequentlyusing his position to draw attention to the plight of civilian victims in Yugoslavia. Kouchner later served as minister of health in Lionel Jospin’s government before being appointed on July 2, 1999 by U.N. Secretary General Kofi Annan as the first head of UNMIK. The conference, entitled “Droitet morale humanitaire”(“Lawand Humanitarian Morality”),adopted a resolution calling for the French government to seek international recognition for “the right of victims to humanitarian assistance and the obligation of States to contribute to that assistance.”52The key assertion of the organizers was that (to use the words of an American protest song) “everybody’sgot a right to live.” Intervention across state borders to protect lives is therefore both a right and a duty, the conference organizers asserted, and the right to intervene should be included in the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights. In 1988 and 1990, France did in fact move in the United Nations to secure resolutionsin favor, not of military intervention to resolve domestic disputes, but of humanitarian aid. Some souverainistes (Regis Debray among them) protested the implied disdain for politics and states embedded in arguments for Ze droit dingkrence. They argued that “the rights of man happen only where there are citizens” and that citizenship only happens in the context of sovereign states. “Towant the man without the citizen,”Debray asserted, “islike want-
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ing a city in the countryside because the air there is so much cleaner.”53But on this issue, the souveruinistes did not find the kind of support they had been able to mobilize around either their opposition to European integration or their defense of Zuiii’t6. Even before Yugoslavia, the pictures were not on their side.
The Lkbate over French Policy in Yugosluvia Within a few short years, critics of government policy in Yugoslavia turned the earlier consensus on humanitarian intervention into a political weapon. While events in Yugoslavia quickly demonstrated how difficult and risky it could be to put the principles of humanitarian intervention into practice, for many people, the ”politicsof rescue”now seemed central to French identity.54 In a political atmosphere marked by anxiety and the fear of decline, failure to defend human rights was equated with a betrayal of the national interest and considered indicative of a deeper and more general democratic failure. In the spring and summer of 1994, angry intellectuals, most of them normally sympathetic to the left, mobilized to call attention to the continuing conflicts in the Balkans. They made it sound as if Franqois Mitterrand in person was responsible for the catastrophe in the former Yugoslavia; more importantly,they made the fiasco in Yugoslavia out to be the sign of a broader crisis. Jacques Julliard warned against “rising fascism” and denounced “the lack of resolve among democracies facing the arrogance of dictatorships.”55 “A new red and brown fascism is haunting our lands,”the philosopher Andre Glucksman (born 1936) wrote in an open letter to Mitterrand, adding: “You will go down as the French president who, disoriented by the end of the Cold War, helped open the doors of the temple of Janus, allowing the plague of shooting wars to spread and prosper.”56 Julliard criticized everyone: Mitterrand and Roland Dumas (foreign minister from December 1984 to 1986 and again from 1988 to 1993) for failing to grasp a reality that defied their normal categories of thought, the right for being bellicose in opposition and pusillanimous in power, the diplomatic and military establishments for supposedly telling the politicians opposed to intervention only what they wanted to hear (i.e., that intervention on the ground would be prohibitively costly), and public opinion for its escapist tendencies. He ridiculed the self-absorptionof a country seemingly more preoccupied by the wreaths Mitterrand had had placed yearly on Petain’s grave on November 11 (commemorating the end of World War I) than by the bloodshed in Bosnia. “In France, we don’t fool around with symbols, and we are right,”Julliard wrote; “Toobad we aren’t so sensitive about realities.”57 Julliard sometimes made his positions sound lonely, but in fact his indignation about events in Bosnia was widely shared-and so were his accusatory tones. On May 11,1994,Le Mom%?ran a story describing grassroots responses
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to the Yugoslav tragedy. Hundreds of initiativeshad been undertaken. Most had been prompted by visceral horror, and almost all were critical of public policy. A high school student captured the mood: “I’msick of seeing peoples, brothers one day, kill each other the next day, sick of wordy politicians who can’t act, sick of seeing unemployment,pollution, and the reign of dirty money.”5* On May 13,1994,three intellectualspublished an article in Le Monde. They linked the legitimacy of European integration to a forceful European response to events in Yugoslavia. “One cannot build an identity on a moral abdication [une h i s s i o n ] , “the intellectualswrote. They would, they declared, reserve their votes in the upcoming EP elections for lists whose leaders supported a policy proposal known in the United States as “lift and strike.”59The policy would have lifted the U.N.-imposedembargo on arms sales to any party in the former Yugoslavia, while at the same time providing NATO air support (strikes) for Bosnian/Muslim forces.@Two days later, Bernard-Henri Uvy announced plans to field a list motivated solely by the Yugoslav issue. The list was soon constituted under the name “Europe begins at Sarajevo.”Its s u p porters summoned the leaders of the mainstream parties to a rally at La Mutualite, a historic meeting hall in Paris, on May 17.Jean-Pierre Cot (parliamentary leader of the socialists in the EP) represented the PS, Bernard Stasi (CDS) r e p resented the conservativelist led by Dominique Baudis, Philippe Henog r e p resented the PCF, Brice Lalonde represented G6n&ation 6cologie, and Yves Cochet attended for the Greens. Michel Rocard arrived at 10:30p.m. By then, one of the organizers, the writer Pascal Bruckner, had set the tone by indis criminately denouncing all politicians as “obscene.”The organizers were for the most part disappointed socialists, but the tumultuous, emotional atmos phere of the meeting was bonapartist (“touspourris”). Dialogue was impossible at the Mutualit6 meeting. In other venues, Mitterrand had sharp words for his critics61 and Main Juppe defended the government’sopposition to the “lift-and-strike”option, arguing that “onlyideologues can believe that this conflict is solely a conflict between democracy and fascism.”6*Responsible government officials thus viewed the intellectualsas ideologically driven idealists, while to their critics, the people in power looked like callous cowards. The more illuminating and principled debate occurred between two intellectuals: it pitted Regis Debray against Bernard-Henri Uvy, and it took place (as such debates often do) in the pages of Le Monae.63 Debray, representing a Jacobin standpoint, saw in the confrontation between “thepolitical class” and “themedia class” over Yugoslavia a host of indicators suggesting democratic decline.The organizersof the “Sarajevolist” and the politicians they attacked were, Debray claimed, opponents in appearance only. Debray was struck by what he viewed as an “identity of convictions”between the two camps. Both had collaborated in undermining French sovereignty. Both were Europeanist, and now one group was finding itself hoisted on its own petard.
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Prosecutors and accused [in the debate over Yugoslavia] have always been united in their support for “European integration” and “Atlantic solidarity.” When the Maastricht Treaty was on the table, they voted in favor of a commercialized Europe because France is my little country and Brussels is our great future. They supported following Washington’s line during the Gulf War, because the Free World can have only one head. After the triumph of the rights of oil users, political leaders and opinion makers celebrated in unison the coming of a new world order of peace and justice under the guidance of the United Nations, returned at last to its original role as the uncontested defender of right. They all applauded when France put its military forces under U.N. command, without discerning that what de Gaulle called an “organizationor a disorganization” would become the legal alibi for a political abdication. . . . They organized and gave their blessing to the replacement of a strategic commitment by a humanitarian show, pulling back only when it was too late. In Bosnia and elsewhere, we are reaping the unattractive fruits of these conformist positions, once so nice and so easy to sell.
Debray also detected an “identity of methods” between intellectuals and politicians, all of whom did their “work”on television when in fact their proper workplaces were elsewhere. Such methods, he charged, had debased both intellectual and political life. He accused intellectuals and politicians of “navigat[ing]by image and opinion”;both groups, he said, relied on public relations techniques to sell their respective “products.”Political life and intellectual activity require independence and creativity; in Debray’s view, intellectuals and politicians no longer displayed or valued either quality, The result, Debray argued, was a process that would further cripple the capacity of the state to make and act on tough decisions, inside or outside its borders. As the state’s independence and autonomy declined, so would its legitimacy. Squeezed from without by globalization and from within by the importance of the media, the State . . . becomes an impossible task. The historically unprecedented, instantaneous, and repeated retransmission of wars, scandals,abuse, and genocide from every corner of the globe increases the social demand for efficacious intervention at just the moment when the ability of States to affect trends (monetary trends and armed attacks, the world economy and local wars) is declining. This gap between a heightened emotional involvement and a shrinking margin of decision, between what we see and what we can do, makes all authorities appear incompetent and in the end despicable.
The gap between desires and capacities was a recipe, Debray warned, that would produce a self-perpetuating combination of bonapartist invective (illustrated by Bruckner’soutburst at the May 17 Mutualite meeting) and governmental impotence. It was not likely to promote a better French policy in Yugoslavia-or anywhere else.
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“Governingmeans accepting the consequencesof what one wants,”Debray admonished, but the intellectuals seemed oblivious to the lessons of Max Weber’sethical categories.&Debray reminded his opponents that the actions they were demanding were not within France’spower and might well not p r o duce the results they anticipated. The arms embargo was a U.N. policy, and Russia would veto changing it: did the advocates of “lift-and-strike” want to set a precedent for unilateral action in violation of U.N. resolutions?Did they want to risk alienating a state like Russia, capable of far worse mischief than Mile sevic’s Serbia? Even if the arms embargo were lifted and air strikes were ordered, it was not clear the Bosnians would benefit from the intensification of the conflict that would almost certainly result. And what if the Serbs respbnded by extending the war to Kosovo, an eventuality western diplomacy was desperately trying to prevent? Levy retorted that he and his friends were worried about consequences, which he identified with “rising fascism,” “ethnic cleansing and the reappearance of [concentration]camps in Europe.”65The whole argument turned on whether the analogy insistently drawn by Levy and his allies between Europe in the 1930s and Europe in the 1990s could be made to stick. IKvy did not argue that Milosevic was a latter-day Hitler or that Serbia was another Nazi Germany. The argument was rather that the ethno-nationalist movements on the loose in eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union were the equivalent of fascism: they were obsessed by race, unconstrained in their use of violence, and insatiable in their pursuit of power. “Youare banking on the goodwill of killers,’’Glucksman warned Mitterrand.66 Fascism does not nege tiate limits to its own expansion; it does not stop unless it is stopped. That was the lesson that Munich should have taught all democrats. Unless met by resolute opposition and superior force, fascism conquers-and it spreads even where it does not conquer. The leader of the Sarajevo list was E o n Schwamenberg,by training an oncologist. He described Europe as “sickwith the cancer of Bosnia.”67IKvy evoked “the possible European metastases of the Bosnian cancer”&and Julliard, changing the medical metaphor but developing the theme, warned that “the Serb gangrene can spread.”@ The Sarajevo list’s proponents deliberately used rhetoric that raised the stakes of the debate. They did not see the issue as a discrete policy dispute. Intellectuals had stepped into the breach, IKvy argued, because “senility, cowardice, [and] amnesia” were in power.70 Democratic governments, it seemed, never knew how to draw a line in the sand on a point of honor (like the assertion that all politicians are “obscene,”this argument was a page taken straight from the bonapartist book). “If you knew,” Glucksman lectured Mitterrand, “howit hurts to see the reiterated imprudence of democracies.”71 For days, the Sarajevo list captured the headlines, prompting Le Monde to deplore “the hijacking of the European campaign”72 by people too selfabsorbed to anticipate the political consequences of their actions. It did even-
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tually dawn on Bernard-HenriL&y and his friends that people might actually vote for their list and that the probable effect of such behavior would be to damage Michel Rocard,the leader of the socialist list and the candidate whose positions were closest to those of the Sarajevo list’s organizers.73 The organizers then split over whether or not to withdraw from the election-capturing more headlines. “What a waste!” Main Minc remarked.74 Olivier Duhamel denounced the proliferation of “monomaniacallists.”75 Twenty lists were contending for public support, among them the list led by Bernard Tapie.76 Elections that allow voters to vote their pet issues do not function as effective mechanisms of public choice. “Politicsdemands,”Duhamel wrote, “that people join together and propose general solutions across different domains, relating those solutions to specified values and means. . . . The division between right and left responds to a reasonable degree to this imperative. The intellectuals could fulfiU a civic mission by classrfying themselves accordingly, and then by sustaining the contest with their talents.”77 Instead, Minc commented, the intellectuals had “unintentionally contributed to the populist atmosphere”by treating the political class with contempt, by turning a single issue into a litmus test for political support, and above all by acting as if complex issues were simple. Like other participants in the debate, Minc detected a general threat to democratic politics-but one embedded in the behavior of the Sarajevo list’sintellectual supporters, not in east European ethno-nationalism or the alleged tendency of democratic governments to capitulate to killers: By hammering on two simple ideas-the reestablishment of the territorial integrity of Bosnia and the lifting of the embargo-[the intellectuals] lend credence to the conviction that in this area as in others, clear cut and absolute solutions exist. As a proposed solution, lifting the embargo is on the same level as declaring youth unemployment illegal:’* it involves betting on the visceral reaction of public opinion and choosing to mobilize emotion at a time when em@ tion already threatens to overrun reason.79
No one likes to watch ethnic cleansing on television. The people who mobilized around the “Sarajevo list” found impotence in the face of such atrocities simply unacceptable. Their sentiments are understandable. The problem lay in their account of the indecision and doubletalk they deplored. Their attribution of policy shortcomingsto the moral failings of a diminished old man whom many had come to despise was shallow, but relatively harmless. Their generic attacks on democracies (as inherently inclined to capitulate) and democratic politics (through the single-issue protest strategy adopted in June 1994) and their professed disillusionwith the cause of European integration were more disturbing, especially given the unintended connections to a longer bonapartist tradition. But however disappointed they may have felt and however impetuous their finger pointing may have been,
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the advocates of le droit dingkrence were not closet bonapartists, and by 1999, they seemed to have gotten over the worst of their disappointment. This may have been because most were Europeanists at heart, and therefore not fundamentallyalienated from the general direction of French foreign policy. In 1999, criticism of the government would come instead from the souverainistes, whose quarrels with contemporary trends were more basic.
The Kosouo Campaign In 1999, the critics of French policy in 1994 supported French participation in the NATO action over Kosovo, even though most of them thought the campaign was too little (they favored the immediate introduction of ground forces) and too late (in their view, Milosevic’s “fascist”tendencies had been clear from the beginning of the troubles in 1991). While public opinion overwhelmingly supported the NATO campaign, the political class and the intelligentsia split.80 From the end of March through the beginning of June 1999, Le Monde published articles representing different viewpoints; other periodicals also sustained the debate. The supporters of the NATO action argued that overwhelming force wasat long last-being deployed in defense of the battered rights of a persecuted civilian population. Pierre Hassner, a prominent professor of international relations, called the aerial campaign “an enormous misstep in the right direction,”necessary to the achievementof “theleast bad transitory solution to the Balkan conflicts.”81The conservative politician Alain Madelin supported intervention; so did the Green leader (and former May 1968 student leader) Daniel Cohn-Bendit. “We have a duty to engage in humanitarian intervention,”Cohn-Benditargued,82and Madelin concurred: “Notinterveningwould have meant accepting ethnic cleansing, the destruction of whole villages, the perpetration of atrocities . . . It would have meant being guilty of failing to assist Europeans in danger.”83 Whatever the strategic or tactical errors of the campaign and however regrettable Europe’s abdication of leadership to the United States might be, Alain Joxe argued, “themain point” lay elsewhere: ‘‘Thisis the political act of a coalition raised against a massacring regime that has organized major violations of human rights, war crimes, and crimes against humanity on a big scale and for ten years.”84 In the columns of Le Nouvel Observateur, Jean Daniel and Jacques Julliard supported the recourse to arms while deploring the form the campaign had taken: “A bad war, a just fight,” Daniel remarked.85 Later, Daniel called the war a “disaster,”but continued to defend it, “aboveall because I do not want to find myself in the camp of those who rejected this war well before it failed, and simply because it was fought under American command and against the Serbs.”86
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The critics of the NATO operation argued that it was compounding the humanitarian disaster on the ground, that it was unlikely to produce a durable and just settlement to the Balkan crisis, and most importantly, that it was contrary to French interests. The Gaullist Marie-FranceGaraud, former advisor to Georges Pompidou and Jacques Chirac, denounced “France’s sheeplike behavior [suivisme bdut].”87 The historian and chevhementiste Max Gallo joined forces with the conservative Gaullist Charles Pasqua to denounce both the NATO campaign and supranational interpretations of European integration.@It was Regis Debray, however, who offered the most penetrating critique of American leadership and European suivisme. The United States, Debray argued, no longer needed to force its power, policies, or point of view on Europe. Old-styledomination was no longer necessary because the United States had “deprogrammed”Europe, imposing its cultural grid so successfully on European policy makers and publics that Europeans could be counted on to follow without being coerced. Americans, Debray suggested, are guided by a moral Machaeanism and a faith in technology; they are consistently inattentive to the constraints of politics, history, and sociology. The two mobilizing myths of the American odyssey have been the escape from politics through technology and the avoidance of the complications and complexities of the past through the conquest of space, from one frontier to the other. . . . History and geography were never a problem for this promised land, which from the start had a destiny, but no past.89
The language of humanitarian intervention was perfectly suited to this culture, Debray thought, especially if power could be exercised from the air. Debray’s problem with the discourse of human rights was not its universalism, but its willful ignorance of political and historical complexities, its corresponding tendency to reduce people with complex goals and interests to mere victims or villains, and its inclination to deal with their conflicts from an altitude of fifteen thousand feet. The transmission belts of Europe’s quite different culture-its schools, its cinema, its literature-were, Debray argued, in crisis, facilitating the penetration of “the aseptic grammar of the posthistorical era” with which Americans were so comfortable. Europeans were increasingly inclined to see the world the way Americans do: “A mind has been Americanized when it has replaced time by space, history by technology, and politics by Scripture.”* Debray had no alternative to propose: he simply lamented the absence of a figure like de Gaulle, “able to get in front of the future because willing to concede the depth of time behind the present. . . . daring to conceive of European affairs in terms set by a European grammar.”91Debray exemplified one version of what Le Nouvel Obsemuteur dubbed the “reac de gauche,” nostalgically attached to values that could not be recovered.92 Six weeks after his
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article appeared in Le Monde and having made a week-long visit to Serbia, Debray damaged his own cause by minimizing Serb atrocities in Kosovo. Debray’s second article93 unleashed a torrent of hostile commentary,%but his argument was vulnerable on grounds independent of his alleged gullibility. Jacques Julliard captured the fatal political flaw in Debray’s positions: “The great weakness of souverainiste thinking,”Julliard wrote, “is that it rejects both Yankee domination and European integration.”95 Debray’s France was a dream. If Debray’s arguments were flawed, competing arguments were not especially reassuring. The Europeanists argued that a fuite en avant toward an unknown but potentially positive future was preferable to a dead-end flight into nostalgia; only the already convinced were likely to be persuaded. The supporters of the NATO operation-politicians and intellectuals alikewere virtually unanimous in their criticism of the strategy the Alliance adopted. All deplored the absence of a Europe organized and strong enough to act on its own. Most concluded in favor of accelerated European integration, even though no one could predict the precise form a unified Europe would take. Small wonder that anxiety and disappointment were such widespread sentiments.
TESTING THE m s s m m s OF SUPRANATIONAL ACTION SOCIAL PROTECTION Capitalism, as we have seen, never acquired a broad and devoted following in France. It did not fare much better in other Continental countries, or even in England. In the postwar period, the United States had adopted Keynesian policies, but had resisted the construction of a robust welfare state; the Western European democracies, in contrast, had combined Keynesianism with significant forms of state intervention to promote some combination of economic growth and social equity. A common critique of the EC in the 1990s was that it was exactly what Mrs. Thatcher had wanted it to be: a pretext for demolishing remaining welfare state guarantees. Mrs. Thatcher often used procedural fights to further substantive goals. She preferred enlarging the Community to deepening it, and with the end of the Cold War, enlargement became politically difficult to resist, since it was widely viewed as providing new democracies with compelling incentives for remaining faithful to their democratic commitments. Enlargement necessarily led to the entry of states whose economies were less developed than those of the ori@ Six (France, Germany, Italy, and the Benelux countries), Nine (the original Six, plus Britain, Denmark, and Ireland), or even the Twelve (the Nine, plus Greece, Portugal, and Spain). In the new member states, workers were paid less and enjoyed fewer rights. Enlargement made deepening more difficult,since it increased the
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number and diversity of interests that would have to be reconciled every time the EC sought to reach a common decision. In the absence of deepening, the critics argued, competition within the EC, shaped and compounded by competition from global markets, would pull wages and benefits down in the more developed member states. Mitterrand had no use for what he disparagingly called “a vague free trade zone,”%“an immense commercial Europe, stripped of a soul, of horizons, of its own pride and its own European identity.”97A decade later, Elisabeth Guigou argued that Europe’s enduring dedication to the goal of social progress was what made it historically and culturally unique. “A European project can only be based on what Europeans have in common,”she wrote, “andon what distinguishes them from non-Europeans:their social model and their particular form of civilization.”9*“Action against social fractures has become the crucial choice, within each country in Europe and at a global level,” she argued; if the EU could not prevent social exclusion (“today’s social cancer”),it would never find popular legitimacy.99 As long as the Conservative Party was in power in Britain (and it was in power for nearly twenty years, from 1979 to 1997), Community resolutions on social policy remained toothless-and French critics of la pensbe unique remained skeptical of the European enterprise. The Social Charter, adopted in December 1989 during the run-up to the Single Market, seemed to have all the characteristics of an empty promise, and so energized critics instead of reassuring them. The Charter created no new powers for the EC and was very general about the principles it sought to promote. Mrs. Thatcher objected even to empty promises-she called the Social Charter a “socialistcharter”*C@-and Conservativegovernments refused to sign the document. The changing of the guard in London in 1997 (confirmed in 2001, after an election the Conservatives had fought on a rabidly anti-European program) and consistent signals from European publics clearly concerned by unemployment and other social issues opened the way for more meaningfulprogress. The Amsterdam Treaty committed EU members to the development of a “coordinated strategy” designed to achieve “ahigh level of employment”without compromising the competitiveness of European firms. Europe’scompetitive advantage would lie in the skills, adaptability, and motivation of a well-educated, well-paid labor force that saw itself as a fully empowered partner in the economy. States would retain primary responsibilityfor social policy within their borders, but the Treaty gave the EU important powers of oversight and suggestion.National plans would have to be consistent with the goals and guidelines (regarding social protection, workers’ rights in the workplace, gender equality, and so on) set forth in the Treaty. Even between 1998 and 2002, with a Labour government in London, a Social Democratic-Green coalition in power in Berlin, and a Socialist-ledgovernment in Paris, French views on social policy did not automaticallyprevail. That there
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were differences among as well as within left-wing parties in Europe regarding how best to address questions of social justice was demonstrated by the mixed reception that greeted the socalled Blair-Schroderpaper of June 1999. Europe was in the midst of a campaign for the European Parliament. Lionel Jospin immediately took exception to the “Third Way” proposed by Blair and Schrder, which seemed to make too many concessions to neoliberal arguments. Throughout his tenure in office,Jospin proved notably reluctant to stir the cauldron of social discontent. But fhsabeth Guigou reminded her compatriots that a “Europe of Europeans cannot be simply a big France.”lO1French acton would have to listen and learn. On their ability to shape new coalitions and new institutions would depend the long-term fate of their essentialvalues. Hubert Vedrine likened the task to getting a decision out of “a sort of gigantic owners’meeting.”It would require,he argued, “negotiation,compromise,trading back and forth, incredible patience, technical concentration,ingenuity,and a willingness to stay in for the duration.”102 Institutional innovation is a constant preoccupation of European political elites. It appears regularly on the agenda of summit meetings and is a frequent topic of debate among intellectuals. Changing circumstances (national elections, for example, or dramatic internationaldevelopments,or economic performance) often reshape reforms in progress or alter the politics of measures under consideration. The enduring pattern, however, is that the economic and market-friendlyaspects of the European project meet with less resistance than do institutional innovations aimed at deepening political integration. In 2002, the national currencies of several EU countries, including France, went out of circulation; people who still quoted prices in “old”(pre-1958) francs found themselves making change in euros.103 The CFSP, however, remained more than an aspiration than an achievement.
Nongovernmental Organizations: Harbingers of Change? Political participation and mechanisms of political accountability remain largely national, but civil society has become increasingly transnational.Economic actors operate transnationally, but so do nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) whose agendas are primarily political. NGOs are private groups (though some receive public funding) that seek to provide collective goods and/or to influence private behavior (usually by other organizations, for example multinational firms) and public policy, either within a state or in the international arena.104 NGOs are different from other kinds of “transmissionbelts”that help ensure interest articulation in democratic societies: political parties, interest groups, and social movements. Like parties and in contrast to interest groups, NGOs claim to advance goals that transcend sectoral or corporatist concerns, but
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unlike parties, they do not nominate candidates for electoral office. Unlike more ephemeral social movements, NGOs have an ongoing organizational existence. Doctors without Borders, Oxfam, Amnesty International, and Greenpeace are all examples of well-known and influential NGOs. All NGOs are embedded in civil society, and precisely because individualsand groups in civil society are increasingly connected across borders (through the Internet and other forms of communicationand mobility), NGOs are “portable”across borders in ways that political parties are not. NGO activity cannot by itself remedy the democratic deficits of organizations like the EU. From a democratic standpoint, the problem with NGOs is that their claims to represent people beyond their members cannot be verified (since the organizationsdo not stand in elections). NGOs can expose the undemocratic or otherwise undesirable character of policies and organizations and they can offer people a way of influencing policies and institutions, but institutions that make concessions to NGOs do not thereby become “accountable.”In this regard, NGOs recall the virtues and vices of bonapartist movements, firing salvos at governments that deserved criticism, but doing so in a manner that can undermine democraticpolitics. Many NGOs do in fact attack institutionalized politics (including democratic parties and governments) as hopelessly beholden to special interests and out of touch with the needs and aspirations of real people. While NGOs are no substitute for political parties, they may be important learning tools as citizens seek to define political transmission belts suitable for transnational democratic societies. The emergence, evolution, and popularity of two French antiglobalizationgroups-the Confbd6ration paysanne and Attac-are indicative of new efforts to develop avenues of political participation that do not stop at national borders. Founded in 1987, the Confbdbrationpaysanne is best known through the actions of one of its leaders, Jose Bove (born 1953), whose activist credentials include roots in both the FNSEA and the second left. Bove captured headlines in August 1999 by dismantling a half-built MacDonald’sto protest junk food, or what he called “la malbouffe”: culturally undifferentiated, ecologically suspect food.105 Several months, a few court actions, and a great deal of publicity later, Bovk and his Confbdbration paysanne colleague, Francois Dufour, took their organization’scommitment to sustainable rural communities, environmental responsibility, and quality produce to the United States, which they toured before participating in the November 1999 protests against the World Trade Organization in Seattle. Attac, short for Association pour la taxation des transactionsfinanciiWes et Z’aide au citoyen, “aimsto produce and communicate information, and to promote and lead all sorts of action in order to enable citizens to reconquer the power that the financial world now exercises over all aspects of political, economic,social, and cultural life everywhere in the world.”l&It was founded
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in June 1998; in November 2001, it could claim twenty4ght thousand paidup members in France and sister organizationsin thirty-ninecountries. Unlike the Confbdbrutionpuysunne, Attuc has no roots in more traditional interest groups or political activity. Instead, its organizers use the Internet to create and connect to new networks. By 2002, the group could attract as much attention as the employers’association, MEDEF. On January 19, 2002, Attac called a meeting in Paris to announce positions it wished to see debated during the upcoming presidential and legislative campaigns. The organizers anticipated three thousand participants; six thousand people came.107 Political parties more typically worried about the opposite scenario: too many chairs and too few people. The Confkdkrution puysunne and Attac share ideological, organizational, and operational traits. Ideologically,they are committed to reasserting the primacy of politics over economics, to defending human rights, and to promoting the democratic values of participation, accountability, and solidarity. Like Ulrich Beck (and Karl Polanyi before him), they view the “the liberal determination to access the planet as a vast, completely unregulated, unsupervised commercial domain”l@3as a form of utopianism, “a revival of the metaphysics of history, a social revolution from above passing itself off as nonpolitical.”l09 They reject all forms of utopianism and all grand social designs,preferring pragmatic, case-by-casesolutions to specific problems. The Confbdbrutionpuysunne and Attac are particularly emphatic in their insistence on the need for North-South solidarity.Both groups see neoliberal economic globalizationas a process that is widening inequalities both within societies and between the developed and the less developed world. Both advocate a significant redistribution of resources from the developed to the less developed world, with Attuc, for example, proposing to use the proceeds from the Tobin tax on speculative financial transactions to fund local development programs in less developed countries. Organizationally, both groups are flexible, nonhierarchical, and decentralized, and both make extensive use of the Internet. Both are active all over the political, institutional, and geographical map. Attuc calls itself “a network without a head.”llOThe Confbdbrutionpuysunne has ties to Attuc, but also to Via Cumpesinu,an international umbrella group of peasant organizations created by Central American peasant leaders in 1992. Bove notes the emergence of “an informal planetary network of movements,”111adding that “the strength of this planetary movement is precisely its ability to assume different forms in different places, while generating trust among people.”112 Jacobinism is not a plausible ideological position for organizations that define themselves as do the Confbdbrution puysunne and Attuc. Thus, despite his opposition to WTO policies and his preference for Roquefort cheese over hamburgers, Bove is not a souveruiniste: “we must devise checks that operate on the same level as globalization, that is, that are plane-
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tary,” he argues; “we can’t just cling to our narrow Napoleonic nationstate.”113Attuc echoes: “liberal globalization is . . . global [sic]. If they are to be effective, resistance against and alternatives to liberal globalization must place themselves at the same leveL”’14While professing no common position on the future of European integration,Attuc is quick to point out that the policies of international organizations like the EU and the WTO do not fall from the sky: they are the work of state governments, and those governments can be held accountablethrough existing political mechanisms. The group’smessage to citizens tired of “the ill effects of liberal globalization”was an imperative as old as politics: organize! Attuc hoped to use the elections of 2002 to “provoke a debate about France’s policies, and more specifically the policies pursued within international organizations by the ministry of the economy”and to “demandthat the positions defended by representatives of the French government be publicly monitored in real time by Parliament.”The result, the organization claimed, would be democratic renewal on a new scale: There is a gigantic field open for the exercise of both representative and participatory democracy. It has been left fallow by existing structures and practices.It is an international field. To appropriate it, elected officials and citizens will have to leave the territory of politicsas-spectacleand the shadow games of the Hexagon and penetrate the sanctuary where real power lies. The democratic requirements of the nation, like the requirement of solidarity with the rest of the world, have no frontiers other than those of the planet itself.ll5
Attuc’s challenge went unmet in 2002, but the presidential and legislative campaigns were criticized for failing precisely the tests that the organization suggested, and NGOs, unlike parties, do not depend on elections to mobilize energies. The Confd&’rution puysunne and Attuc go where the action isand they take the media with them. Again, unlike French parties, which spend a fortune on public relations and are still greeted with a mixture of boredom and hostility, both NGOs discussed here have been extraordinarily savvy in using the media and new communications technologies to convey their message to the public and to generate support for their actions. From January 31 to February 5,2002, politicians trooped to the World Social Forum in Port0 Alegre. Presidential candidates Jean-Pierre Chevenement (P6Ze rdpublicuin)and Noel Mamere (Greens) were there, as were six cabinet ministers and representativesof both Prime MinisterJospin and President Chirac. Franqois Hollande, the leader of the PS, was also there, and so was the (socialist) mayor of Paris, Bertrand Delanoe. We are accustomed to thinking of democracy as being institutionally framed by parties, elections, and nation-states. That scaffolding is no longer reliable or adequate, since sovereignty is not what it was. The interesting question to ask about organizations like the Confd&rution puysunne and
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Attuc has to do not with the substance of their proposals-after all, partisans of representative democracy believe in the necessity of parties other than their own and applaud elections even when the side they personally prefer loses-but with their efforts to move beyond the Jacobin Eramework to chart new fields and forms of democratic action. “We’rein for a long scrap,”Jose Bove conceded.116 His attitude and actions suggested an example of the “mobilizationof will” that Mitterrand had warned democratic renewal would require. Long struggles and acts of will can of course go in unexpected directions, and we have noted evidence of bonapartist temptations in unexpected quarters (not to mention bonapartist activity in more predictable places). By attacking parties and parliaments, bonapartist movements tend to detool democraticpolities. What about NGOs like the Conf&d&utionpuysunne and Attuc? Institutionallyspeaking, were the forms of political participation Bove advocated retooling democracy or leading people in afuite en avant? What were the alternatives?
CONCLUSION In June 1995,Jacques Chirac announced that France would conduct a final series of nuclear tests. Mitterrand had suspended such testing in April 1992. Anticipating domestic and especially foreign criticism, the new president claimed that his decision was dictated by “thehigher interests of our nation” and was “naturally irrevocable.”117Many observers criticized the move as motivated by Chirac’s need to appear decisive, presidential, and (above all) Gaullist. Pierre Mauroy, while reaffirming his support for France’s nuclear forces, called the resumption of testing an ill-timed, ill-conceived decision, “unedecision a contretemps, a contre-courant, a contresens”:it would compromise France’s moral credibility; it demonstrated an inability to rethink priorities in light of a changing world and new threats; and, by dint of its unilateral character and the Gaullist rhetoric in which it had been wrapped, it would complicate the construction of a European foreign policy.118 Survey data indicated that two out of three of his compatriots shared Mauroy’s opposition to Chirac’s decision.119 Interestingly, Chirac felt compelled to suggest, however vaguely, that France’s nuclear forces might eventually be placed at the disposal of the European Union. The nuclear tests were an atavistic expression of France’s abiding ambition to be a great power; French critiques of American actions often seemed to obey the same motives. Throughout the postwar period, many Americans viewed French foreign policy as gratuitously obstructionist. In this account, the French opposed American policies and proposals simply because they were American. The same Americans often seemed to assume that American policies were enlightened simply by virtue of being American, but their inter-
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pretation of French motives was not entirely wrong. The French resisted American power because American power was hegemonic and the French valued independence as a good in itself. But the French, shaped by their own history, politics, and culture as well as by their more limited power, also read the world differently from the way Americans did. They were correspondingly inclined to develop different policy orientations-toward institutions (like the United Nations), specific conflicts (like the Israeli-Palestinian conflict), or issues (like Third World debt relief and free trade). As French independence became increasingly subsumed under a European identity of uncertain definition, questions often asked about French power resurfaced in a new form: what substantive purposes would European power serve? Did Europe have a distinctive project, or did it simply want to maximize its power?If Europe did have a project, was it one that the French could embrace while remaining “French”? We do not yet know the answers to these questions; they will be decided by Europeans in the course of political debates and decisions over the next several decades, and they will, as always, be subject to the vicissitudes of international events. French Europeanists promote the further development of the welfare state and the defense of universal rights as Europe’sspecial mission. Both goals have clear roots in France’spast, and both have been adopted by French NGOs whose audience and influence seem to be expanding. Yet both require the construction of coalitions that do not as yet exist and of institutions whose shape still defies our imagination. Reflecting on the course of European integration and the concept of sovereignty in 1995, Antoine Winckler wondered whether ongoing discussions were best thought of as the “description of a crisis or the crisis of a description.”120As in the case of immigrants and integration, the sometimes shrill debates in France about indkpendunce, multilateralism, and supranationality and the dismal foreign policy record of the EU in such high-profile cases as Yugoslavia may have masked modest but significant progress. The Maastricht Treaty, even as it created new areas of EU competence, enshrined the principle of subsidiarity.The superposition of European, national, regional, and local political structures raised problems of jurisdiction. The principle of subsidiarity dictated that decisions be made at the lowest level practical. Critics worried that local concerns would squeeze out greater ambitions. But the purpose of the principle was to encourage efficiency and flexibility while increasing democratic legitimacy (by enhancing transparency and responsiveness). The principle also served Europeanist ambitions in more indirect ways. It offered a means of settling sovereignty disputes without discussing them in grand ideological terms and it suggested the possibility of a “Europe a geometrie variable,”a European Union in which different configurations of states would agree to different levels of cooperation. This reduced the risk that enlargement would sabotage efforts to deepen integration.
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The Maastricht and Amsterdam reforms came into force as France was still adjusting to and building upon the decentralizationreforms of the 1980s.Here again, the process of adjustment was often bumpy, and in some instances the new institutions appeared to encourage dysfunctional behavioral responses. But gradually, more promising patterns began to emerge, as subnational units started to grasp the range of possibilities created by the multiple changes taking place. Successive governments promised further reforms. In the debates about Corsica, Jean Daniel (who cautiously supported the Matignon “process”)had made repeated reference to what he called Z’espace rbpublicain, as in: “It must be possible . . . thanks to a broad, open, daring decentralization . . . to keep Corsica in Z’espace rbpublicain.”121Clearly, Daniel intended Z’espace rbpublicain to mean something different from la Rbpublique. What exactly the new term meant was unclear. In the face of such uncertainty, Jacobins like Jean-Pierre Chevenement remained inconsolable. Roger Fauroux, however, reminded his compatriots that not all human stories end badly and that happy endings are sometimes hard to anticipate precisely because they involve departures from apparently permanent patterns: It is not absurd-it is even reasonable-to think that humanity will invent radically new forms of organization, even if today we cannot yet discern the contours of those forms. . . . Who among Bossuet’s audience in the chapel at Versailles could have imagined the advent of a secular democracy just over two centuries after the Sermons?122
Plantu, the longtime cartoonist for Le Monde, responded simultaneously to the Corsican debates and the presidential ambitions of Jospin, Chevenement, and Chirac with a wonderfully ambiguous cartoon. In the foreground, Chevenement is addressingthe public. Early in the 2002 campaign, Chevknement was considered the “thirdman” in the race, behind the two anticipated frontrunners,Jospin and Chirac. In the cartoon, the former minister is reading from a long scroll of paper on which one word appears, repeated over and over: “Republique.”Just behind him, Chirac and Jospin listen, their arms crossed and their expressionsangry. Above the two men is their reaction: “Et pourquoi il a un texte et pas nous?”(“So why does he have a text and we don’t?”)lz3Chevenement had a text, but did he have a strategy? Chirac and Jospin, for all their differences, were both improvisers. They had neither a text nor a strategy. None of the men featured in Plantu’scartoon did well in the 2002 elections. Chevenement won a disappointing5.3 percent of the presidential vote on April 24. On June 16, he lost the parliamentary seat he had held since 1973, and he subsequently announced his intention to withdraw from public life. Apparently, his Jacobin text appealed, but as a strategy it no longer persuaded. But
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the improvisers were also penalized, even if one ended up president of the republic. Improvisationis a fair-weatherstrategy;in situationsfraught with fear and anxiety,both withdrawal and ideologicalassertivenessare likely to be more attractive. Ideologies are attractive because they provide overarching explanations of events; no matter how faulty the explanationsmay be, they offer those who subscribe to them a renewed sense of control and certainty. Bossuet (1627-1704) was a major figure in the French Church and at Louis X I V ’ s court. Between his sermons on behalf of divine right monarchy and the consolidationof the “Republiqueindivisible, laique, dkmocratique et sociale,” France survived a long procession of political experiments. Fauroux’s ostensibly optimistic judgment about France’s unknown future was as ambiguous as Plantu’scartoon.Among French democrats, the Jacobins have an outmoded text; their critics, from the partisans ofparit6 to Jose Bovk, reject “abstractions” and grand schemes. Yet democracy in our time requires a fundamental renewal of political institutions, actors, and culture. Improvisation may not suffice to hold antidemocratic trends at bay. In the course of its long and eventful democraticeducation, France flunked a number of important tests. Our common and continuing democratic education may be taking place under less permissive circumstances; we may not have the same chance to remedy our failures.AU the more reason to mind our lessons.
RECOMMENDEDREADING
Frencb Foreign Policy, European Integration, and Yugoslavia Boniface, Pascal. L a France estelce encore une grande puissance? Paris: Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 1999. Cohen, Hie. La tentation hexagonale. Paris: Fayard, 19%. Cohen, Samy, ed. Milterrand et la sortie de la Guerrefroide. Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 1998. Debray, Regis, as “Xavierde C**’.” L’ddit de Caracalla, ouplaidoyerpour les &tatsUnis dOccident. Paris: Fayard, 2002. Debray, Regis. Tous azimuts. Paris:Odile Jacob/Fondationpour les etudes de defense nationale, 1989. Delors, Jacques. L’Unitd d u n homme: Entretiens avec Dominique Wolton. Paris: Odile Jacob, 1994. du Roy, Albert. Domaine rdservk: les coulisses de la diplomatiefranFaise. Paris: Le Seuil, 2000. Duhamel, Alain. Une ambition fraqaise. Paris: Plon, 1998. Dumas, Roland. Le Fil et lapelote: Mdmoires. Paris: Plon, 19%. Gordon, Philip H. A Certain Idea of France: French Security Policy and the Gaullist Legacy. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1993.
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-. France, Germany, and the WesternAlliance. Boulder, CO: Westview, 1994. Gordon, Philip H., and Sophie Meunier. The French Challenge:Adapting to Globalization. Washington,DC: Brookings, 2001. Guigou, J%sabeth. Pour les Europdens. Paris: Flammarion, 1994. Hoffmann, Stanley. The European Sisyphus:Essays on Europe, 1964-1994.Boulder, CO: Westview, 1995. Julliard,Jacques. Cefacisme qui vient. Paris: Le Seuil, 1994. -. Pour la Bosnie. Paris: Le Seuil, 1996. IKvy,Bernard-Henri.Le lys et la cendre:journal d u n ecrivain au temps de la guewe de Bosnie. Paris: Grasset, 1996. Liwe blanc sur la ddfense, 1994.Paris: Union gknkrale des editions; 10/18,1994. Mitterrand,Franqois. De la France, de I’Allemagne.Paris: Odile Jacob, 1996. -. Onze discours sur l’urope (1982-1995).Naples, Italy: Vivarium, 1996. -. Rdjlexionssur lapolitique extdrieurede la France: Introduction a vingtcinq discours, 1981-1985.Paris: Fayard, 1986. NahoumGrappe, Veronique, ed. Vukovar, Sarajevo . . . : La guewe en exYougoslavie.Paris: Editions Esprit, 1993. Percheron, Annick. “LesFranpis et 1’Europe:Acquiescement de faqade ou adhesion veritable?”RevuefranGaise de sciencepolitique,vol. XLI, no. 3 (June 1991),pp. 382-406. Ross, George. Jacques Delors and European Integration. New York Oxford University Press, 1995. Tardy, Thierry.La France et la gestion des conjlitsyougoslaves (1991-1995).Brus sels, Belgium: hnile Bruylant, 1999. Tiersky, Ronald. FranGois Mittewand: The Last French President. New York: St. Martin’s, 2000. Vedrine, Hubert (with Dominique Moisi). France in an Age of Globalization. Trans. Philip H. Gordon. Washington, DC: Brookings, 2001. Vkdrine, Hubert. Les mondes de FranGois Mittewand: A I’Elysde, 1981-1995.Paris: Fayard, 1996. Vernet, Daniel, and Jean-Marc Gonin. Le r&e sum$&: Chronique des guerres yougoslaves. Paris: Odile Jacob, 1994. Humanitarian Interuention-TBe
F r m b Debate
Bettati, Mario, and Bernard Kouchner, eds. Le devoir dingbence: Peut-on les hisser mourir? Paris: Denoel, 1987. Bettati, Mario. Le droit dingbence: Mutation de I’ordre international. Paris: Odile Jacob, 1996. Cohen, Samy, ed. L’opinion, I’humanitaire et la guerre: une perspective comparative. Paris: Fondation pour les etudes de defense nationale, 1996. Deptal, Marie€hristine. Politique ext&eure et diplomutiemorale: le droit ding&ence en question. Paris: Fondation pour les etudes de defense nationale, 1993. Floquet, Michel, and Bertrand Coq. Les tribulations de Bernard K.en Yougoslavie. Paris: Albin Michel, 1993. Kouchner, Bernard. Ce queje oois. Paris: Grasset, 1995.
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-. Le malheur des autres. Paris: Odile Jacob, 1991. Le ddbat, “Des usages de l’humanitaire,”no. 84 (March-April 1995): articles by Rony Brauman, Jean-Claude Guillebaud, Pierre Lellouche, Jean-Christophe Rufin, and Luc de Heusch. Le ddbat, “Ingkrence:vers un nouveau droit international?”no. 67 (November-December 1991): articles by Mario Bettati, Pierre Hassner, and Jean-Christophe Rufin; interview with Bernard Kouchner. Rufin,Jean-Christophe. “Les humanitaires et la guerre du Kosovo.”Le ddbat, no. 106 (September-October 1999), pp. 3-26. -. “Pour l’humanitaire: dCpasser le sentiment d’echec.” Le ddbat, no. 105 (May-August 1999), pp. 4-21.
UsefulJournals Esprit Le ddbat Politique 6trang8re Relations internationales et stratdgiques
To Understand Yugoslavia Anzulovic, Branimir. Heavenly Serbia:From Myth to Genocide.New York: New York University Press, 1999. Daalder, Ivo H., and Michael E. O’Hanlon. Winning Ugly: NATO’s War to Save Kosovo. Washington, DC: Brookings, 2000. Daalder, Ivo H. Getting to Dayton: The Making of America’s Bosnia Policy. Washington, DC: Brookings, 2000. Djilas, Aleksa. The Contested Country: Yugoslav Unity and Communist Revolution, 1917-1753.Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991. Glenny, Misha. The Balkans: Nationalism, War, and the Great Powers, 1804-1999. New York: Penguin, 1999. Halberstam, David. War in a Time of Peace: Bush, Clinton, and the Generals. New York: Scribner, 2001. Holbrooke, Richard. To End a War. New York: Random House, 1998. Independent International Commission on Kosovo. The Kosovo Report: Conflict, International Response, Lessons Learned. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Judah, Tim. Kosovo: Warand Reuenge.New Haven, Corn.: Yale University Press, 2000. -. The Serbs: History, Myth and the Destruction of Yugoslavia. New Haven, Corn.: Yale University Press, 1997. Malcolm, Noel. Bosnia:A Short History. New York: New York University Press, 1996. -. Kosovo:A Short History. New York Harperperennial, 1999. Owen, David. Balkan Odyssey. San Diego, Calif.: Harcourt Brace, 1995. Rieff, David. Slaughterhouse:Bosnia and the Failure of the West.New York: Touchstone, 1996. Ullman, Richard H., ed. The World and Yugoslavia’s Wars. New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1996.
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Woodward, Susan L. Balkan Tragedy: Chaos and Dissolution afer the Cold War. Washington, DC: Brookings, 1995. Zimmerman, Warren. Origins of a Catastrophe: Yugoslavia and Its DestroyersAmerica’s Last Ambassador Telk What Happened and why.New York Times Books/Random House, 1996.
NOTES 1. See Hubert Vedrine, interview with Jean Daniel, “L‘autregrandeur,”Le Nouvel Observateur, May 28, 1998,p. 108. 2. See Vedrine, “L‘autregrandeur,”p. 108. In contrast, “superpowers”are characterized by their superior military capacities and “great powers” concede a rough equality among themselves. 3. Albert du Roy, Domaine r6serv6: les coulisses de la diplomatie franGaise (Paris: Le Seuil, 2000), p. 282. 4. Du Roy, Domaine r6sew6, pp. 281-282. 5. Du Roy, Domaine r6sew6, p. 9. 6. Jules Ferry, speaking in parliament in defense of France’sexpanding colonial commitments, July 28, 1885, text in Raoul Girardet, ed., Le nationalisme franGais: Anthologie, 1871-1914 (Paris: Le Seuil, 1983), pp. 106-107. 7. Franqois Mitterrand, “Colloque‘Les tribus ou I’Europe,’” Paris, February 29, 1992,in Franqois Mitterrand, Onze discouts sur Z’Europe (1982-1995) (Naples,Italy: Vivarium, 1996), p. 84. 8. See for example Debray’s pseudonymously published book, Xavier de C***, L’6dit de CaracaUu, oupluidqerpour les L?tats-Unisd0ccMent (Paris: Fayard, 2002). 9. Anthony Giddens uses the term “runaway world” to capture the high-risk character of the modern world. See Anthony Giddens, Runaway World:How Globalization Is Reshaping Our Lives (New York: Routledge, 2000). For a more academic treatment, see Anthony Giddens, Modernity and Self-dentity:Selfand Society in the Late Modern Age (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1991). 10. Charles de Gaulle, September 5, 1960 and April 11, 1961, Discours et messages, vol. 3: Avec le renouveau, 1958-1962 (Paris: Plon, 1970),pp. 256 and 318. De Gaulle also famously, although possibly apocryphally, referred to the United Nations as a “machin”(a thing). In French, the United Nations is called the Organisation des Nations unies, thus inviting de Gaulle’s sarcasm. 11. The termsJacobin and souverainiste are preferable here to “Gaullist”to avoid confusion with the RPR: not all members of the RPR were equally Jacobin, and many people who did not support the RPR had souverainiste views. 12. For analyses of public opinion, see Annick Percheron, “LesFranqais et 1’Europe: Acquiescement de facade ou adhesion veritable?”Revue franGaise de science politique, vol. XLI, no. 3 (June 1991), pp. 382-406 and Bruno Cautres and Bernard Denni, “Les attitudes des Franqais h I’egard de 1’Union europeenne: les logiques du refus,” in Pierre Brechon et al., eds., Les cultures politiques des FranGais (Paris: Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 2000), pp. 323-354. 13. Properly speaking, there was no parliamentary vote on the EDC, nor was there even a parliamentary debate. Anticipating defeat, proponents of the treaty
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sought to postpone debate, whereupon opponents used a procedural maneuver to kill the treaty. The vote was 319 in favor of the questionprkalable (i.e., against any consideration of the treaty) to 264 opposed, with 12 abstentions and 31 deputies (23 of whom were members of the government) not voting. The socialist group split 53 to 50; the radical socialists 34 to 33; the UDSR 10 to 8; a dissident Gaullist group split 16 to 14. All 95 communistsvoted against the treaty, as did 67 out of 73 Gaullists. The MRP voted overwhelminglyin favor of the treaty (2 votes for the questionprkalable, 80 opposed, 4 abstentions). Throughout the summer of 1954, public opinion appeared to be evenly divided. See Raymond Aron and Daniel Lerner, eds., La querelle de la CED:Essais d’analysesociologique (Paris: Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques, 1956). The parliamentaryvote, broken down by party affiliation, is on p. 58; survey data on the EDC are cited and discussed on pp. 142-147. 14. John McCormick, Understanding the European Union: A Concise Introduction (New York St. Martin’s, 1999), p. 192. 15. In the 1970s, Giscard’sattempt to reorient Gaullist foreign and military policy in light of his own more Atlanticist and European convictions and of perceived changes in the patterns of American capability and policy helped lay the foundations for further progress in European integration, but met strong resistance at home. 16. Franqois Mitterrand, “Ouvermredes rencontres nationales pourl’Europe,”Paris, January 10, 1992, in Franqois Mitterrand, Onze discours sur I’Europe (1982-1995) (Naples, Italy: Vivarium, 1996), pp. 63,73. 17. Mitterrand, “Seancede clBture des assises de la Confederation europeenne,” June 14, 1991, in Mitterrand, Onze discours sur 1’Europe (1982-1995), p. 53. 18. Mitterrand used this image in his May 8,1995 Berlin speech to characterizethe victory being commemorated, but it is a theme that recurs in his speeches about Europe;for example, September 21,1991, again in Berlin, cited in Hubert Vedrine,Les mondes de FranGois Mitterrand: a L’Elyske, 1981-1995 (Paris: Fayard, 1996), p. 465. 19. Franqois Mitterrand, on “Aujourd’huiI’Europe,”in Le Monde, September 5, 1992, pp. 8-9. 20. Fmnqois Mitterrand, “Seance de clature des assises de la Confederation europeenne,” June 14, 1991, in Franqois Mitterrand, Onze discours sur I‘Europe (1982-1995) (Naples,Italy: Vivarium, 1996), p. 52. 21. Hubert Vedrine, Les mondes de FranGois Mitterrand: a l’Elyske, 1981-1995 (Paris: Fayard, 1996), p. 293. 22. Vedrine, Les mondes de FranGois Mittewand, p. 568. 23. Vedrine, interview with Jean Daniel, “L’autregrandeur,”Le Nouvel Observateur, May 28, 1998, p. 11 1. 24. Gilles de Robien,Plaidoyerpour une droite plurielle, rkpublicaine, libkrale, sociale, europkenne. . .:Entretien avec Pierre-LucSeguillon (Paris: Le Pre aux Clercs, 19991, p. 69. 25. Ibsabeth Guigou, Pour les europkeens (Paris: Flammarion, 1994), p. 45. 26. Thierry Tardy, La France et la gestion des conpitsyougoslaves (1991 - 1995): Enjeux et 1eGon.s de maintien de path de I’ONU (Brussels, Belgium: bile Bruylant, 19991, p. 62. 27. General Jean Cot, excommander of the UNPROFOR in ex-Yugoslavia, preface to Tardy, L a France et la gestion des conpits yougoslaves (1991-1995), p. x. 28. Warren Christopher,Secretary of State from 1993 to 1997,used this expression
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to describe the situation in Bosnia; see citation in Ivo H. Daalder, Getting to Dayton: The Making of America’sBosnia Policy (Washington,DC:Brookings, 2000), p. 36. 29. H. N. Brailsford, 1908, cited in Tim Judah, Kosovo: War and Revenge (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 2000), p. 11. 30. Ivo H. Daalder and Michael E. O’Hanlon, Winning Ugly:NATO’s War to Save Kosovo (Washington, DC: Brookings, 2000), p. 17. 31. House of Commons Select Committee on Foreign Affairs,Fourth Report, May 24, 2000, paragraph 77, cited in the Independent International Commission on Kosovo’s The Kosovo Report: Conflict, International Response, Lessons Learned (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), p. 86. 32. Ivo H. Daalder and Michael E. O’Hanlon,Winning Ugly: NATO’s War to Save Kosovo (Washington: Brookings, 2000), p. 19. 33. See Independent International Commission on Kosovo’s The Kosovo Report: Conflict, International Response, Lessons Learned (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000), pp. 90 and 304f. 34. Jacques Delors, cited in Daniel Vernet and Jean-Marc Gonin, Le r&vesacrtfkf: Cbronique des guerres yougoslaves (Paris: O d e Jacob, 1994), p. 58. 35. Elisabeth Guigou, Pour les europ6ens (Paris: Flammarion, 1994), p. 192. 36. Bernard-Henri IKvy,Le lys et la cendre:Journal d u n h i v a i n au temps de la guewe de Bosnie (Paris: Grasset, 1996), pp. 86ff. 37. Gvy, Le lys et la cendre, p. 90. 38. Gvy, Le lys et la cendre, p. 90. 39. Andre Glucksman, “Ceciest bien une guerre,” Le Monde, May 18, 1999,p. 15. 40. See Michael L. Walzer, “The Politics of Rescue,” Social Research, vol. 62, no. 1 (Spring 1995), pp. 53-66. The Yugoslav disaster provoked an avalanche of writing on humanitarian intervention. The issue of Social Research in which Walzer’s article appeared was devoted to ”Rescue: The Paradoxes of Virtue.” See also Stanley Hoffmann, “The Politics and Ethics of Military Intervention,” Survival, vol. 37, no. 4 (Winter 1995-1996), pp. 29-51 and Michael Ignatieff, Human Rigbts As Politics and Zdolatry (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 2001). For the French debate on humanitarian intervention, see recommended readings listed at the end of this chapter. 41. SOFRES poll commissioned by Libbration and conducted between April 27 and April 29, 1999, data reproduced and analyzed in Alain Joxe, “Limpact du conflit du Kosovo dans l’opinion publique franqaise,” in Olivier Duhamel and Philippe Mechet, L’opinionpublique 2000 (Paris: Le Seuil, 2000), pp. 207-222. 42. On the “silence of the intellectuals,”see the series of articles published in Le Monde during the summer of 1983, beginning with Philippe Boggio’s “Le silence des intellectuels de gauche,”Le Monde,July 27,1983, pp. 1 and 6, and ending on August 25, 1983. 43. Jean-Guillaume Lanuque and Claude Pennetier, “La France, Trotski, les trotskismes,”Le Monde, June 13, 2001, p. 16. The relevant sentence reads: “If ex-communists constitute France’s biggest party, ephemeral Trotskyites are a huge club.” 44. Morin and Furet both wrote influential memoirs of their involvement with the PCF. See Edgar Morin, Autocritique (Paris: Julliard, 1959) and Franqois Furet, Le pass6 d’une illusion:Essai sur l’id6e communiste au X X e sickle (Paris: Robert Laffont, 1995).
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45. For an unsympathetic account, see Tony Judt, Past Imperfect: French Intellectuals, 1944-1956(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992). 46. Alexis de Tocqueville, B e Old Regime and the French Revolution, trans. Stuart Gilbert (Garden City, Ny: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1955), p. 141; see above, chapter 5. 47. Raymond Aron (1905-1983), a normalien, was a student of political philosophy, social theory, and international relations. He is widely credited with introducing a generation of students to Tocqueville’swork. Aron joined the Free French in London in 1940; after the war, he was a columnist first for Combat and then, beginning in 1947, for Le Figaro. In the late 1950s, he argued that decolonization was in France’s interest. He denounced intellectual connivance with the communist movement in L’opium des intellectuels (Paris: Calmann-Levy, 1955). Dominique Schnapper, the sociologist who made such significant contributions to the discussions of citizenship in the 1980s and 1990s,was Aron’s daughter. Franqois Mauriac (1885-1970) was a well-known Catholic novelist and antifascistintellectual. He was a mendksiste in the 1950s and a Gaullist under the Fifth Republic. Beginning in 1953, his column (“Bloc-Notes”)appeared weekly in L’Express (until 1961) and then in Le Figaro. 48. Foucault himself was another former communist. A student of Althusser and Maurice Merleau-Ponty, he joined the Party in 1950, but lasted only a year. 49. “Of course,”Claude Cheysson said, “wewill do nothing”;cited in Le Monde, December 15,1981, p. 8. 50. Text and list of signers in “IaCFDT, FO, la CGC, la CFTC et la FEN demandent l’appui de M. Mitterrand,”Le Monde, December 24, 1981, p. 6. Those supporting the statement included Pierre Bourdieu, Jean-Marie Domenach, Franqois Dubet, Alain Finkielkraut, Michel Foucault, Franqois Furet, And& Glucksman, Jacques Julliard, Claude Lefort, Jacques Le Goff, Emmanuel Le Roy Iadurie, Yves Montand, Edgar Morin, Pierre Nora,Pierre Rosanvallon, Shone Signoret, Jorge Semprun, Paul Thibaud, Alain Touraine,Pierre Vidal-Naquet,and Michel Wieviorka. Several petitions circulated in the days that followed the declarationof martial law in Poland, and many people signed multiple petitions. See: “Plusieursintellectuels de gauche polemiquent avec le PS,”Le Monk, December 18,1981, p. 8; “Unappel d~crivains et de scientifiques de gauche,” Le Monde, December 23, 1981, p. 5 ; “Un hommage des artistes et des intellectuels a I’Opdra de Paris,’’Le Monde, December24,1981,p. 6;“Plusde quatre mille scientifiques et intellectuels franqais demandent de ‘suspendretoute relation susceptible daider les auteurs, polonais ou non, du coup de force,”’ Le Monk, December 25, 1981, p. 5. Meanwhile, the noncommunisttrade unions organized mass demonstrationsto protest the events in Poland. By December 23, prime minister Pierre Mauroy was stressingthe government’ssupport for democratic forces in Poland (see text of statement made in the National Assembly, in “ ‘Leprincipe de non-ingerencene consiste pas pour un Etat a ne rien voir, a ne rien entendre,”’Le Motuie, December 25,1981, p. 4): The principle of noninterventiondoes not require a state to see and hear nothing, to think and say nothing no matter what happens in the world. It is not acceptable that the rights of states should trump the rights of peoples and the rights of man. What I am saying here is the very message of the universalmoral conscience. It is the message of France.
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51. Kouchner was by training a gastroenterologist.He was also well connected in Parisian intellectual,journalistic, and political circles. See his autobiographical Ce queje crois (Paris: Grasset, 1995). 52. Mario Bettati and Bernard Kouchner, eds., Le droit dingkrence: Peut-on les hisser mourir? (Paris: Denoel, 1987), p. 292. 53. Regis Debray, “Lesdroits de I’homme: une fausse reponse,” in Mario Bettati and Bernard Kouchner,eds., Le droit dingkence: Peut-on les laisser mourir? (Paris: Denoel, 1987), p. 63. 54. “What is new,” Alain Joxe wrote in commenting on public opinion in 1999, “isthe advent of an ethical, as opposed to a juridicalor geographic, definition of obligations.”Main Joxe, “L‘impactdu conflit du Kosovo dans I’opinionpublique franqaise,“ in Olivier Duhamel and Philippe Mechet, L’opinionpublique 2000 (Paris: Le Seuil, 2000), p. 212. 55. JacquesJulliard, Cef i c h e qui vient. . . (Paris: Le Seuil, February 194), p. 11. 56. Andre Glucksman, “Merci,Monsieur le President,”Le Monde, May 26,1994, p. 2. 57. JacquesJulliard, Cef i c i s m e qui vient . . . (Paris: Le Seuil, February 1994),pp. 128f. 58. Cited in “Citoyenspour la Bosnie: La France compte au moins trois cents collectifs, associationset coordinationscontre la ‘purificationethnique,’ Le Monde, May 11, 1994, p. 4. 59. Alain Finkielkraut,Pierre Hassner, and VeroniqueNahourn-Grappe, “L‘Europe a-telle encore un sens?”Le Monde, May 13, 1994,p. 2. 60. The embargo was thought to penalize the Bosnian forces; Serbs had helped themselves to the assets of the well-armed former Yugoslav People’sArmy. 61. See interview in Le Nouvel Observateur, May 26,1994, pp. 56 and 58 and Le Monde, May 18,1994, pp. 1 and 8. 62. Alain Juppe, “Sarajevo:ce que je crois,” Le Monde, May 21,1994, pp. 1 and 5. See also the April 12, 1994 parliamentary debate on Yugoslavia Vournal oflciel, D6batsparlementaires, dance du 12 awill994,pp. 681-704), in which Juppk and defense minister Franqois IRotard represented the government. 63. Regis Debray, “Les frires ennemis,” Le Monde, May 25, 1994, pp. 1-2; Bernard-Henri IRvy, “Huit reponses a Regis Debray,”Le Monde, May 27, 1994,p. 2; see also Andre Glucksman, “Merci,Monsieur le President,”Le Monde, May 26, 1994, p. 2. 64. At the end of his 1918 essay on “Politicsas a Vocation,”the German sociologist Max Weber distinguished between what he called the ethics of responsibilityand the ethics of ultimate ends. The practitioner of the former accepts that he will be judged on the consequences of his actions; the practitioner of the latter justifies his actions on the basis of his own intentions. See Max Weber, “Politicsas a Vocation,”in H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills, eds. and tr., From Mruc Weber: Essays in Sociology (New York: Oxford University Press, 1946), pp. 118- 128. In his reply, Lkvy acknowledged the allusion, but rejected the accusation. 65. Bernard-HenriLevy, “Huit reponses a Regis Debray,”Le Monde, May 27,1994, p. 2, including the reference to Julliard’sbook. 66. Andre Glucksman, “Merci,Monsieur le President,”Le Monde, May 26, 1994, p. 2.
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67. Cited in “La ‘liste Sarajevo’s’est perdue en route,” Le Monde,June 14, 1994, p. 5. 68. Bernard-HenriLkvy,“Huitreponses 2 Regis Debray,”Le Monde, May 27,1994, p. 2. 69. Jacques Julliard, “Delit de fuite,” Le Nouvel Observateur, June 4, 1992, reprinted in Jacques Julliard, Pour la Bosnie (Paris: Le Seuil, 1996), p. 61. 70. Bernard-Henri Uvy, “Huitreponses a Regis Debray,”Le Monde, May 27,1994, p. 2. 71. Andre Glucksman, “Merci,Monsieur le President,”Le Monde, May 26, 1994, p. 2. 72. “La ‘liste Sarajevo’ oblige le gouvernement a justifier sa politique en Bosnie,” Le Monde, May 29-30,1994, p. 1. 73. On May 28, 1994, Le Monde reported (pp. 1 and 8) an IPSOS poll commissioned by Le Point. The poll suggested that 12 percent of the electorate might vote for the Sarajevo list. The list ate into support for all other lists except that of the National Front: thus its presence would reduce the UDF-RPR score from 30 to 27 percent and Rocard’s score from 20 to 18 percent. The list’s presence was nonetheless particularly damaging to Rocard, partly because he was already in trouble and partly because his effort to match the list’s positions on Yugoslavia had angered Mitterrand loyalists within the PS and struck others as a deplorable instance of pandering. 74. Alain Minc, “Ni Aron, ni Malraux, ni Zola,” Le Monde, June 1, 1994, p. 2. 75. Olivier Duhamel, “Arrcterle n’importe quoi,” Le Monde, June 1, 1994, p. 2. Duhamel was a candidate on the PS list led by Michel Rocard. 76. “Therearen’t lists,”Duhamel remarked, “justpetitions.”These were the elections that would effectivelyend Michel Rocard’sbid to lead the PS in the post-Mitterrand era (see chapter 5). 77. Duhamel, “Arreterle n’importe quoi,” Le Monde, June 1, 1994, p. 2. 78. Bernard Tapie had suggested that youth unemployment be declared “illegal,” a position he reiterated throughout the campaign; see for example “M. Tapie: ‘Etrede gauche, Fa se merite,”’ Le Monde, June 10, 1994, p. 15. Minc might also have cited Philippe Seguin’sproposal to conduct a referendum on employment policies, so as to get away from la pensee unique and adopt a national goal of “zero exclusion.” See “M. Seguin espkre surmonter les blocages de la societe face au chGmage,”Le Monde, May 4, 1994, p. 8. Seguin’sproposal was probably intended as the opening volley of his presidential campaign, but in 1995, it was Chirac who successfully exploited anxiety about la fracture sociale. 79. Main Minc, “NiAron, ni Malraux, ni Zola,”Le Monde, June 1, 1994, p. 2. 80. The same pattern had occurred during the Gulf War in 1991. 81. Pierre Hassner, “Kosovo:en cas dechec . . . ,”Le Monde, March 27,1999, p. 1. 82. Daniel Cohn-Bendit, “Pour un protectorat europeen,” Le Monde, April 3, 1999, p. 16. 83. Alain Madelin, “Sommesnouspr&s a nous battre?”Le Monde, April 1, 1999, p. 18. At the end of this passage, Madelin alludes to a well-known French legal principle. In French penal law (Article 223-6), an individual who fails to assist a person who is in clear and imminent physical danger (whether because of an accident or an assault) can be punished with imprisonment and fines. The legal principle is recognized in everyday speech, in which people commonly refer (sometimes ironically) to
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“non-assistancea personne en danger.”The duty to intervene in humanitarian crises is often presented as an extension of this legal principle. 84. Alain Joxe, “Rectifier une incoherence au Kosovo,”Le Monde, April 3, 1999, p. 16.Joxe’s stance is notable because of his previous association with souverainiste positions and Jean-PierreChevenement. 85. Jean Daniel, “Mauvaiseguerre, juste combat,”Le Nouvel Observateur, April 8, 1999, pp. 22-23. See also Jacques Julliard, “Prioriteabsolue,” Le Nouvel Observateur, April 8, 1999, p. 23. 86. Jean Daniel, “Kosovo:notre reponse . . . , n Le Nouvel Observateur, May 27, 1999,p. 23. Unlike most participants in the debate, Daniel defended a nuanced position throughout the Kosovo crisis. 87. Marie-France Garaud, “Kosovo:l’absurdite et le peril,”Le Monde, March 27, 1999, p. 18. 88. Max Gallo and Charles Pasqua, “Pas de paix sans independance de 1’Europe,” Le Monde, April 2, 1999, pp. 1 and 17. Chevenement himself was gagged by his status as a cabinet minister, but his opposition to the NATO campaign was well known. 89. Regis Debray, “L’Europesomnambule,”Le Monde, April 1, 1999,p. 19. 90. Debray, “L‘Europesomnambule,”p. 19. 91. Debray, “L‘Europesomnambule,”p. 19.Rkac is slang for reactionary.Rkac de gauche means “leftistreactionary. 92. See “Dossier:Faut-il &re ‘reacde gauche’?’’Le Nouvel Observateur, April 1, 1999, pp. 4-11; see also Jacques Julliard, “Adieu!”Le Nouvel Observateur, April 15, 1999, p. 21. 93. Regis Debray, “Lettre d’un voyageur au president de la Republique,” Le Monde, May 13,1999, pp. 1 and 15. 94. See for example, Bernard-HenriGvy, “Adieu,Regis Debray,”Le Monde, May 14, 1999, pp. 1 and 13, Alain Joxe, “Contrele ‘cretinismeinternational,’”Le Monde, May 14,1999,p. 13, and Andre Glucksman, “Vousn’avez pas vu ce que vous avez V U , ~ L’Eapress, May 20, 1999, p. 63; Regis Debray responded to his critics in “Ce que j’ai vraiment dit,”Le Nouvel Observateur, May 20, 1999, p. 38. 95. Jacques Julliard, “L’erreurhistorique des ‘souverainistes,’” Le Nouvel Observateur, May 20, 1999,p. 37. 96. Franqois Mitterrand, “Seance de cl6ture des assises de la Confederation europeenne,”June 14, 1991, in Franqois Mitterrand, Onze discours sur I’Europe (2982-1995)(Naples, Italy: Vivarium, 1996), p. 56. 97. Franqois Mitterrand,De Z’Allemagne,de la France (Paris: Odile Jacob, 1996), p. 225. 98. Elisabeth Guigou, Pour les europkens (Paris: Flammarion, 1994),p. 217. 99. Guigou, Pour les europkens, p. 130. 100. See Margaret Thatcher, Tbe Downing Street Years (New York: HarperCollins, 19931, p. 750. 101. hsabeth Guigou, Pour les europkens (Paris: Flammarion, 1994), p. 239. 102. Hubert Vedrine, interview with Jean Daniel, “L’autre grandeur,”Le Nouvel Observateur, May 28, 1998, p. 108. 103. In December 1958, de Gaulle devalued the franc and created the so-called franc lourd. One hundred old francs were the equivalent of one new franc, making
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one old franc the equivalent of one new centime. Most people stuck with the old system, simply quoting the new sums in centimes. 104. For a discussionof NGOs, see Margaret E. Keck and Kathryn Sikkink, Activists beyond Borders: Advocacy Networks in International Politics (Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1998). 105. Bove originally preferred the expression “bouffede merde,”but he reconsidered. See Jose Bove and Franqois Dufour, Le monde n’estpas une marcbandise:Des paysans contre la malbouffe, entretiens avec Gilles Luneau (Paris:La Dkcouverte, 2000), p. 77. lob. Attac, Constitution,Article 1. 107. See “6000 personnes au Zenith de Paris, Attac surprise par son succks,”Le Monde,January 22,2002, p. 8. 108. Jose Bove and Franqois Dufour, Le monde n’estpas une marcbandfse:Des paysans contre la malbouffe, entretiens avec Gilks Luneau (Paris: La Dkcouverte, 20001, p. 193. 109. Ulrich Beck, What Is Globalization?trans. Patrick Candler (Oxford: Polity Press, 2000), p. 117. For the classic analysis of the idea of a self-regulating market as a utopian project, see Karl Polanyi, The Great Transformation:The Political and Economic Origins of Our Time (Boston: Beacon Press, 1944). 110. Attac, Manzyeste 2002 uanuary 20021. 111. Jose Bove and Franqois Dufour, Le mon& n’est pas une marcbandise: Des paysans contre la malbouffe, entretiens avec Gilles Luneau (Paris: La Dkcouverte, 2000), p. 214. 112. Bove and Dufour, Le monde n’estpas une marcbandise, p. 220. 113. Bove and Dufour, Le monde n’estpas une marcbandise, p. 209. 114. Attac, Manifeste 2002 LJanuary 20021. 115. Attac, Maniyeste 2002 uanuary 20021. 116. Jose Bove and Franqois Dufour, Le monde n’estpas une marcbandise: Des paysans contre la malbouffe, entretiens avec Gilles Luneau (Paris: La Dkcouverte, 2000), p. 218. 117. Chirac announced his decision at a press conference on June 13, 1995. Le Monde printed key excerpts in its editions of June 15,1995, p. 2. 118. Pierre Mauroy, “Le mauvais exemple,”Le Monde, September 3-4, 1995, pp. 1 and 9; citation at p. 1. The first test was held on September 5. Five others followed. 119. On September 2,1995, Le Monde reported @. 4) the results of a BVA pok 63 percent of the sample opposed the tests, while 29 percent approved Chirac’s decision. 120. Antoine Winckler, “Description d’une crise ou crise d’une description,” Le &%at, no. 87 (November-December 1995), pp. 59-73. 121. Jean Daniel, “Le divorce Jospin-chevenement: les faux proces,” Le Nouvel Obsmateur,August 31,2000, p. 51. 122. Roger Fauroux, Etats de service (Paris: Hachette, 1998), pp. 78-79. 123. This cartoon is reproduced in Plantu, Le troisisme bomme illustrk (Paris: Le Seuil, 2002), p. 33.
APPENDIX A
A Chronology of French Regimes prior to 1789 The “OldRegime”(divine right monarchy) 1598
Edict of Nantes (suggested a move toward religious toleration) 1610 Assassination of Henri IV, followed by a long period of unrest 1642 Death of Richelieu 1648-1653 “La Fronde”-diversely motivated, mostly noble, resistance to royal authority 1661-1715 Personal reign of Louis XIV (important figures: Colbert, Bossuet) 1685 Revocation of the Edict of Nantes 1776 Beginning of American War of Independence
1789-1799 Revolutionary period 1789- 1792 Attempt to build constitutional monarchy 1793- 1794 The “Terror” (Convention dominated by Robespierre, Jacobins), First Republic 1795-1799 The Directory 1799- 1814 First Empire (Napoleon) 1799- 1804 The Consulate 1804- 1814 The First Empire “HundredDays” Restoration eclipsed when Napoleon returns briefly (March-July 1815) 313
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1815-1830 Restoration Monarchy (“Legitimists”in power) 1815-1824 Louis XVIII 1824-1830 Charles X 1830-1848 July Monarchy (Louis Philippe, “Orleanists”in power) 1848-1852 Second Republic
June Days (1848) Worker unrest destabilizesthe young Republic December 2, 1851 Coup by Louis Napoleon, president of the Republic 1852-1870 Second Empire (Napoleon 110; collapses with French defeat in Franca-PrussianWar
March-May 1871 The Paris Commune 1875-1940 Third Republic 1877-1879
President Mac-Mahon tries to turn republic in authoritarian direction; fails
1940-1944 “Etatfranqais,” commonly known as the Vichy government @etain) 1944- 1946 Provisional Government of the Republic 1946-1958 Fourth Republic 1954-1962 Algerian War (critical in bringing about the demise of Fourth Republic) 1958-? Fifth Republic 1962 President made subject to direct election 2000 Presidential term shortened from seven to five years
APPENDIX B
The Fifth Republic: The Presidents and Their Prime Ministers Charles de Gaulle, 1958-April 1969 Michel Debre (Gaullist), January 1959-April 1962 Georges Pompidou (Gaullist), April 1962-July 1968 Maurice Couve de Murville (civil servant),July 1968-April 1969 Alain Poher (interim president after de Gaulle’s resignation) Georges Pompidou (Gaullist), June 1969-April 1974 Jacques Chaban-Delmas(Gaullist), June 1969-July 1972 Pierre Messmer (Gaullist), July 1972-April 1974 Alain Poher (interim president after Pompidou’sdeath) Valery Giscard d’Estaing0 , May 1974-May 1981 Jacques Chirac (UDR), May 1974-August 1976 Raymond Barre (independent conservative),August 1976-May 1981 Franqois Mitterrand (PS), May 1981- May 1995 Pierre Mauroy (PS), May 1981-July 1984 Laurent Fabius (PS), July 1984-March 1986 *JacquesChirac W R ) , March 1986-May 1988 Michel Rocard (PS), May 1988-May 1991 Edith Cresson (PS), May 1991-April 1992 Pierre Berkgovoy (PS), April 1992-March 1993 *EdouardBalladur (RPR), March 1993-May 1995 Jacques Chirac (RPR),May 1995Alain Juppe (RPR), May 1995-June 1997 *LionelJospin (PS), June 1997- May 2002 Jean-Pierre Raffarin (former PR, UDF, DL), May 2002‘Denotes “cohabitation”governments 315
APPENDIX C
Electoral Laws: An Introduction Democratic (and sometimes nondemocratic) countries have many elected officials (mayors, presidents, parliamentarians, and so on). Elected officials may be elected directly by voters or indirectly by an electoral college (typically composed of other elected officials). Different positions may have different terms (in France, for example, members of the National Assembly are elected directly and for five years, while members of the Senate are elected indirectly and for nine years). Elected officials may be subject to residency requirements.They may be limited in how many terms they may serve or how many offices they may hold concurrently, or both. Different kinds of rules can be used in conducting direct elections. When political scientists refer to “electorallaws” without other qualification, they usually mean the mode of election used to select members of the lower house of the national parliament. Thus references to “the electoral laws of the Fourth Republic”point attention to how the National Assembly was elected between1946and1958. There are two basic types of electoral laws. Theplurality system also goes by other names: winner-take-allorfirst-past-the-post.The other type of electoral system is called proportional representation (PR). In France, the plurality system used in elections for the National Assembly is called the scrutin uninominal a deux tours, or the scrutin majoritaire deux tours. PR-based elections are called scrutins de liste. In the former type of election, the voter specifies a preference for a single candidate(in the French case, there are two rounds, or tours, of voting); in the latter type, for a slate or list of candidates. History teaches us that rules affect outcomes, but that their impact, and especially their impact over time, is hard to predict. Real-lifeelectoral systems are often quite complicated,reflecting the complex motives of the politicians who designed them and the particular circumstances of the country involved. The basic logic of plurality and PR systems, however, can be introduced as follows.
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PLURALITY ELECTORAL LAWS How They Work The country is divided into electoral districts. Each district disposes of a single seat in the lower house (i.e., each district is a “single member constituency”). On election day, voters are presented with a list of candidates. Each voter votes for one candidate. The candidate who receives aplurulity of the valid votes wins the seat.
An Example In electoral district D, 50,000voters turn out to decide who will represent the district in the lower house. Five candidates (from left to right: V, W,X , Y, and Z)contest the election. Each voter casts his ballot for an individual candidate. The results are as follows: Candidate V, 20 percent of the valid votes; W, 30 percent; X , 20 percent; Y, 20 percent; Z , 10 percent. Candidate W is elected because he won more votes than any other single candidate. Note: No candidate came close to winning a majority of the vote, and 70 percent of the voters voted against the individual elected.
Hypothetical Impact of Plurality Electoral Laws Since plurality electoral laws left 70 percent of the voters of district Dunrepresented (and perhaps that pattern was repeated in districts across the country), such laws are clearly not intended to be ‘‘fair” in any obvious way. They are favored because they are thought to reduce both fragmentationand polarization at the electoral level, while producing a two-party (or two-bloc) system at the parliamentary level. To see why, look back at the example given above. Let us assume that: 1. The parties represented by candidates V and W lean to the left, while the parties represented by candidates X, Y, and 2 are more or less conservative. 2. None of the parties opposes the country’sconstitutional set-up.
Eventually, it will occur to the leaders of the conservative parties that together they command 50 percent of the vote and so could easily beat the liberal candidate W ; Parties X, Y , and Z therefore band together. To meet the new conservative challenge,liberal parties Vand W also unite.
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If this calculation occurs, fragmentation will be reduced. Instead of the original five parties, there will be only two parties (or coalitions). Polarization will also be reduced, because both the liberal and the conservative coalitions will be competing for the support of the centrist voters. A reluctant liberal may well vote conservative if the liberal party strays too far from the political center, whereas a convinced leftist will remain loyal for lack of a more appealing alternative. The liberal party will therefore cater to the opinions of the reluctant liberal, while taking the support of the left for granted. The same thing will happen on the conservative side. Malcontents of one description or another will occasionally organize third parties, but few voters will want to “waste” their votes on a candidate who stands little chance of winning, particularly since the most likely result of splitting a coalition would be the victory of the candidate of the opposing coalition.Consider the followingexample:The electorate is split 50-50. Restless right-wingersabandon the conservative party and propose their own candidate, who wins 5 percent of the vote. Result: The liberal candidate is elected. Thus while third parties may compete in elections, only the two major parties are likely to win parliamentary seats, and one of those two parties will get a majority of seats. In a parliamentary system, the presence of a clear, dependable parliamentary majority will ensure strong, stable, effective government. The classic example of a political system shaped for the better by plurality electoral laws is Great Britain. But as the example of the Third Republic (which used the scrutin uninominal Ci d e w tours) suggests, plurality electoral laws do not always produce the results outlined above. Plurality electoral laws will have a felicitous effect on democratic politics if and only if the following conditions are met:
Two major political parties or “families”must already be present, and preferably organized, when the laws are implemented. If, as in India during the first several decades after independence, there is only one party with strong national appeal, plurality electoral laws will hamper the formation of a broadly based opposition party. This may be less true in countries that use a two-round plurality system, but there was a partisan thrust to the electoralreforms of 1958, and its purpose was to keep the left weak. The basic line of cleavage in the body politic must in fact be the one separatingpolitical left from political right. Other possible lines of cleavage include religious, ethnic, linguistic, and regional differences; in France, the clerical-anticlerical divide was particularly relevant. Antisystem parties or groups (groups opposed to the constitutional setup) must either be nonexistent or have only insignificant appeal. In France, such groups have been common.
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In countries where the above conditionsdo not obtain, the adoption of plurality electoral laws may have an adverse effect on political stability and consensus. Small parties, unable to obtain a plurality in any electoral district, would be excluded from parliamentary representation. Differences of principle (see conditions 2 and 3 above) would discourage them from building interparty alliances. Locked out of parliament and responsible governmental positions, such groups would have every reason to adopt increasingly extreme positions and to take their cause into the streets. Two-round systems help attenuate these dangers by offering the electorate a wide range of choices on the first round. However, as the French presidential elections of 2002 demonstrated, this remedy can create its own problems. In s u m , plurality electoral laws “produce”moderate, bipolar party systems only in countries where the initial patterns of cleavage were characterized by low polarization (moderation) and low fragmentation (bipolarity), or where such patterns are developing as a result of social, economic, and cultural change. Elsewhere, or in elections to bodies where a stable majority is not considered a necessity, another type of electoral system is often preferred: proportional representation.
PROPORTIONAL REPRESENTATION
How PR Works: 1. The country is divided in electoraldistricts. Each electoral district sends several representativesto the lower house. 2. As the electoral campaign begins, each party draws up a list of people it hopes to send to the lower house. 3. On election day, each voter votes for apurty (or a list of candidates). 4 . Seats are allocated to each party in proportion to the share of the vote its list received. If a party gets five seats, the first five people on the party’s electoral list will take office.
An Example In electoral district R, 500,000 voters turn out to decide how the district will be represented in the lower house. District R disposes of ten seats. Five parties (from left to right: A, B, C, D, and E ) compete in the election. Each voter casts his ballot for a party. He may base his choice on the party’s ideology, its program, and/or the composition of the party’s electoral list. The results are as follows: Party A, 20 percent of the valid votes; B, 30 percent; C, 20 percent; D, 20 percent; E, 10 percent.
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Party A gets two seats (20 percent of 10) in parliament; the fmt two people on its electoral list will occupy the seats. Party B gets three seats, Party C two seats, Party D two seats, and Party E one seat.
Hypothetical Impact of Proportional Representation PR is “fair” and “democratic”in that it produces a lower house whose composition accurately reflects the various elements of public opinion. PR is nevertheless frowned upon by political scientists because it is held to cause or compound fragmentation, polarization, ineffective government, and political instability. Small parties will be able to win seats on their own and so will have no incentive to form broad, “catch-all”coalitionswith other parties before elections. Since no single party is likely to win a parliamentary majority, postelection bargaining among party leaders will be necessary before a government (prime minister and cabinet) can be formed. Once formed,the governmentwill be reluctant to undertake strong measures lest its composite majority evaporate. Existing problems will not be solved, new challenges will not be met, and the regime’s critics will have a field day, further increasing polarization and locking the political system into a vicious circle fueled by governmental failure and popular discontent. Classic examples of the disastrous effects of PR include the Weimar Republic that preceded Hider’s rise to power in Germany and the French Fourth Republic. Most real-life PR systems are weighted (often in complicated ways) to reward the top vote-winningparties. The more the results are weighted, the less “proportional”the system becomes. Real-life PR systems also typically include “threshold”rules, which deny representation to (and may impose financial penalties on) parties that fail to win more than a certain percentage of the vote.
FRENCH ELECTIONS: A GLOSSARY OF TERMS klections anticipkes: elections held ahead of schedule (as, for example, in 1997,when Chirac dissolved the sitting National Assembly). 6lection partielle: by-election. A by-election is held if a seat (or an elected body) becomes vacant through death, resignation, or the legal nullification of a prior election. By-elections sometimes provide clues about the evolution of public opinion during the periods between elections and may therefore be carefully watched. The September 1983 by-election in Dreux, which catapulted the National Front to national prominence, was held after a court nullified the results of the regularly scheduled municipal elections that had been held in March. premier tour: first round of a two-round election. Although the second round is decisive in determining the results of an election (the composition of the National
ELECTORAL LAWS
321
Assembly, for example, or the identity of the president of the republic), firstround statistics provide a more accurate picture of public opinion, and so they are typically the statistics that are cited in evaluations of party strength. deuxi&ne tour: second round of a two-round election (also called the run-off election). dksistement:to dksister is to step aside in favor of a better-placed candidate during the interval between the two rounds of a two-round election. Thus a center-right candidate who won 15 percent of the first-roundvote might step aside in favor of the conservative candidate who won 25 percent, or a communist candidate might defer to a better-placed socialist. Dksistements are often negotiated at the national level by the parties. On the left, the habit of dksistement is traditionally referred to as “disciplinerepublicaine”(republican discipline), since it was originally used to inhibit the election of antirepublicanconservatives. circonsdption:electoral district. inscrits:registered voters. The discrepancy between the number of eligible voters and the number of registered voters is much less significant in France than it is in the United States. Since 1997, all documented eighteen-year-olds have been automatically registered. suflrages expimks: votes cast, whether valid or invalid. Unless otherwise specified, electoral results are given as a percentage of votes cast. The higher the abstention rate, the more important it becomes to report the results as a percentage of registered voters and not just of votes cast. t a w dabstention:abstention rate. Calculated by subtractingthe number of votes cast from the number of registered voters, and then converting the difference into a percentage of registered voters. Theparticipation rate indicates the percentage of registered voters who cast votes. bkancs et nuk: blank, spoiled, or otherwise invalid ballots (sometimes “mutilated”is included as a descriptivepossibility). Casting a blank or invalid vote is part of the repertoire of protest in France, and so these votes are tabulated and typically given as a percentage of votes cast. The existence of this category means that the percentages of votes cast for candidates (or, in PR elections, lists) may not total up to 100 percent. sondage “sortiedes umes”:exit poll cumul des mandatss:act of holding two or more offices (e.g., mayor and deputy) concurrently.
IMPORTANT ELECTED BODIES President of the Republic:seven-year term through Chirac’selection in 1995;five-year term beginning with Chirac’sre-election in 2002; two-round direct election; twoweek interval between the two rounds. National Assembly (577 seats in 2002; 550 deputies represent districts in metropolitan France; the remaining 27 represent overseas dkpartements and territories): elected every five years or immediately following its dissolution; two-round plurality elections; one-week interval between the two rounds. Senate (321 seats in 2002): nine-year term; one-third of the body is elected every three years. Elections are organized at the departmentallevel; they are indirect and the
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method used depends on the size of the d6partement. The Senate cannot be dissolved. Conseils r6gionau.x (26 regions in 2002): the regions were a creation of the decentralization laws of 1982. The first regional elections were held in 1986. Regional councils were initially elected every six years, but beginning in 2004, the term will be five years. Elections are two-round PR elections, and are held simultaneously across the country. Each regional council elects a regional president, who serves for six years. Municipal councils (one for each commune): elected every six years; elections are held simultaneouslyacross the country. Towns with fewer than 3,500 inhabitants use a modified two-round plurality system. Towns with more than 3,500 inhabitants use a two-round PR system. Paris, Lyon, and Marseille elect both municipal councils and precinct councils (conseilsdawondissement).In all cases, mayors are elected by the members of the municipal council. Departmental councils (conseils gdn6rau.x):six-year term; one-half of the body is elected every three years. Each county (canton) sends one councilor to the council; elections are two-round plurality elections. European Parliament (France elects 87 deputies to the 62Gmember body): five-year term; single-round,PR election with national lists.
APPENDIX D
Who’s Who in French Politics Aubry, Martine (born1950): Socialist;important figure in Jospin’s 1997-2002 government; as minister of labor, she was a driving force behind the legislation to shorten the workweek to thmy-fivehours. Balladur, Edouard (born 1929): Minister (economy, finance, privatization) in Chirac’s 1986-1988 government;prime minister from 1993to 1995;ran unsuccessfully for president in 1995. Barre, Raymond (born 1924): Economist; prime minister from 1976 to 1981; unsuccessful presidential candidate in 1988. Mayor of Lyon. Relatively independent political figure on the moderate right. Blum, L6on (1872-1950): Influential socialist leader under the Third and Fourth Republics. Prime minister under the Popular Front, and again briefly in 1946-1947. Advocated a humanist, democratic form of socialism. Was among the republican leaders put on trial at Riom by the Vichy government; was later deported to Germany. Bove, Jose (born 1953): Antiglobalization activist, with a background in the FNSEA, the peace movement, and a succession of second-left causes. Chaban-Delmas,Jacques (1915-2000): Gaullist; worked for Vichy before going over to the Resistance. Prime minister from 1969 to 1972; sought to implement a center-right reformist program (la nouvelle socidte?. Longtime mayor of Bordeaux. Ran unsuccessfully for president in 1974. Chevenement, Jean-Pierre (born 1939): Longtime leader of the leftist CERES faction within the PS. During the 1970s and 1980s, favored closer ties with the PCF. Then and later, advocated economic protectionism and opposed further European integration. Left the PS in 1992 to found the Mouvernent des citoyens; later created the Pdle rbpublicain. Held repeated ministerial appointments: under Fabius (July 1984-March 1986, education), Rocard (May 1988-January 1991, defense), and Jospin (June 1997-August 2000, interior). Ran unsuccessfully for president in 2002. Throughout the 1990s, a key defender of “Jacobin”positions.
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Chirac, Jacques (born 1932): Prime minister from 1974 to 1976; mayor of Paris from 1977 to 1995; first “cohabitation”prime minister from 1986 to 1988; elected president in 1995; reelected in 2002. Founder (1976) and leader of the Gaullist RPR.
Cohn-Bendit,Daniel (born 1945):Student leader in the events of May 1968. Later active in Green politics in Germany. Returned to France to lead the Green list in the European elections of 1999. Darnard, Joseph (1 897- 1945): Right-wing activist under the Third Repub lic; member of the veterans’ organization Crozk de Feu in the 1930s, then of the protofascist Cagoule and the PPF. Founder and leader of the Service dordre Zkgionnaire (February 1942), which sent French volunteers to fight alongside the Germans on the Eastern front, and of the Milice (1943). Tried and executed at the Liberation. Debr6, Michel(1912- 1996): Founded the National School of Administration (ENA) in October 1945.Aide to Charles de Gaulle and one of the architects of the Constitution of 1958;prime minister from 1959 to 1962 and key figure during de Gaulle’stenure in power. de Gaulle, Charles (1890- 1970):originally a career officer; wartime leader of Free France; head of the government from the Liberation until his resignation in January 1946;founder and leader of the RPF (April 1947);founder and president of the Fifth Republic from its inception in May 1958 until his resignation in April 1969. Defferre, Gaston (1912-1986): Socialist leader under the Fourth and Fifth Republics; longtime mayor of Marseilles. Attempted unsuccessfully to build a center-left coalition prior to the presidential election in 1965 (as an alternative to the socialist-communist alliance favored by Mitterrand). Architect of the decentralization laws adopted by the Socialist government in the 1980s. Delors, Jacques (born 1925):Former aide to Chaban; former CFDT activist; important figure on the “secondleft.”Minister of the economy in Mauroy’s 1981-1983 government. President of the European Commission, 1985-1995. Declined to run as a socialist candidate in 1995. Duclos, Jacques (1896-1975): Important communist leader from the incep tion of the party until his death. Candidate for president in 1969 (he won 21.5 percent of the vote). Fabius, Laurent (born 1946):Socialist leader during and after the Mitterrand era; prime minister from 1984 to 1986; minister of the economy under Jospin. Giscard dEstaing, Val- (born 1926): Minister of finance under de Gaulle, leader of the UDF (in several of its incarnations); president of the Republic from 1974 to 1981. Guigou, Elisabeth (born 1946): Socialist; advisor to Mitterrand; minister of justice under Jospin; articulate advocate of European integration.
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Hue, Robert (born 1946): Communist leader; ran unsuccessfully for president in 2002 and was subsequently defeated in the parliamentaryelections. Jospin, Lionel (born 1937): Socialist leader, minister during the Mitterrand era; ran an impressive though unsuccessful presidential campaign as the socialist candidate in 1995; prime minister and architect of the gauche plurielle from 1997 to 2002; unexpected loser in the first round of presidential balloting in 2002. Jupfi, A h i n (born 1945): RPR; prime minister from 1995 to 1997; key figure in the Unionpour la majoritdprdsidentielle (2002). Laval, Pierre (1883-1945): Third Republic politician; head of the government under Petain from June to December 1940 and again from April 1942 to August 1944. Tried and shot at the Liberation. Le Pen, Jean-Marie (born 1928): Extreme-right politician and leader of the National Front. Unexpectedly reached the run-off in the presidential elections of 2002. Maire, E d m o n d (born 1931): Leader of the CFDT from 1971 to 1988;important voice on the “second left.” Succeeded by Jean Kaspar (born 1941), who was in turn replaced in October 1992 by Nicole Notat (born 1947). Marchais, Georges (1920-1997): Succeeded Waldeck-Rochet in 1972 as leader of the PCF; remained at the head of the Party until 1994, when he was replaced by Robert Hue. Ran for president in 1981. Lacked the mobilizing talents of Duclos and Thorez. Presided over the Party during the Common Progradunion of the Left period and on into its years of decline. Mauroy, Pierre (born 1928): Socialist leader; prime minister from 1981 to 1984;longtime mayor of Lille. Maurras, Charles (1868-1952): Right-wing theoretician under the Third Republic and longtime editor of the influentialand reactionary newspaper, 1’ActionfrunGaise. Virulently antirepublican,antisocialist, and antisemitic. Tried and sentenced to life imprisonment at the Liberation. M-t, Bruno (born 1949): National Front politician who broke with Le Pen in December 1998 and subsequently created his own party. Mend& France, Pierre (1907-1982): Independent leftist politician and key moral reference during both the Fourth and Fifth Republics. Was widely respected by many (and deeply hated by others), but never developed a strong partisan base. Prime minister in 1954-1955; negotiated the Geneva Accords which brought the French Indochina War to a close. Skeptical about European political integration, he allowed the EDC to die. Opposed the institutional reforms of 1958. In the event of a regime change, was prepared to head an interim government in May 1968. Mitterrand, Francob (1916- 1996): Center-left, then socialist leader under the Fourth and Fifth Republics. SupportedMendes France in 1954-1955 and served as his minister of the interior. Held cabinet positions under several governments in the Fourth Republic. Opposed the institutional reforms of
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1958.From 1965through the early 1970s,recreated the Socialist Party, forging a conflictual alliance with the PCF. Unsuccessful candidatefor president in 1965 (against de Gaulle) and 1974 (against Giscard). Elected president in 1981; reelected in 1988. Mollet, Guy( 1905- 1975): Socialistleader under the Fourth Republic.As prime minister in 1956- 1957,made the decision to send the conscript army to Algeria. Sidelined in the Fifth Republic by Mitterrand. Monnet, J e a n (1888-1979): Head of the Plan from 1947 to 1952; key proponent of European integration. Moulin, Jean(1899-1943): Prefect under the Third Republic;Resistance hero. As head of the Conseil national de la Rbsistance, M o d served as a liaison between the Free French in London and the domestic Resistance. Captured and tortured to death in July 1943. Notat, N i c o l e (born 1947): Influential head of the CFDT from 1992 to 2002. Succeeded in May 2002 by Franqois Chereque. Pasqua, Charles (born 1927): Gaullist politician; served as Giscard’s “law and order” minister of the interior; held the same position in Chirac’s 1986 government. Vehemently opposed to further European integration: urged a no vote in the September 1992 referendum on the Maastricht Treaty and broke with the RPR in advance of the 1999 European elections. P e t a h , Philippe (1856-1951): “Victorof Verdun” in World War I; leader of the Vichy government from 1940to 1945.The death sentence pronounced against him at the Liberation was commuted, and he died in prison. Pinay, Antoine (1891-1994): Prime minister in 1952; his appointment signaled that the Fourth Republic had taken a conservativeturn; credited with controlling inflation. Poujade, Pierre (born 1920): Leader of a right-wingpopulist movement during mid-1950s. Rocard, Michel (born 1930): Longtime leader of the “second left” and Mitterrand’s perennial unhappy rival. Founder and leader of the PSU; opponent of the Algerian War.Joined Mitterrand’snew PS in 1974.Hoped to run for president in 1981,but stood down when Mitterrand announced his candidacy. Prime minister from 1988to 1991.Discredited as a potential socialist candidate for the presidency in 1995 by the poor showing he made as leader of the socialist list in the 1994 European elections. SCguin, Philippe (born 1943): Prominent but moody RPR politician; opponent of European integration. SCguy, Georges (born 1927): Deported in 1944 for his activities in the communist-led Resistance group Francs-tireurs et partisans franqais. Leader of the CGT from 1967 to 1982, succeeding Benoit Frachon (1892-1975). In turn, succeeded by Henri Krasucki, who was replaced by Louis Viannet (born 1933) in June 1992.As of 2002, the CGT was led by Bernard Thibault.
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Seilli&e, Ernest-Antoine (born 1937): Business leader; president of the CNPF (1997) and then of the CNPF’s successor organization, the MEDEF. Thorez, Maurice (1900-1964): Leader of the PCF from 1930 to 1964; deserted from the military and fled to Moscow in the wake of the NaziSoviet pact of 1939; spent the war years in Moscow. Minister in the governments of the Liberation (1945- 1947); succeeded by Waldeck-Rochet (1905- 1983). Veil, Shone (born 1927): Center-right politician (LJDF). Deported to Auschwitz in 1944. As minister of health under Giscard, she secured the liberalization of France’s abortion laws. Led the UDF list in the European elections of 1979 (27.8 percent). President of the European Parliament from 1979 to 1982. Minister in the Balladur government of 1993. Appointed to the Conseil constitutionnel in March 1998.
USEFUL REFERENCE WORKS Several easily accessible research instruments can provide useful biographical and chronologicalinformation.One such instrument is Galhard’s twevolume Journal de la France et des FranGais: chronologie politique, culturelle et religieuse de Clovis h 2000, 2 vols. (Paris: Gallimard, 2001); despite its title, it is a good source of biographical as well as chronologicalinformation.The Petit Robert 2: Dictionnaire universe1des nomspopres is, as its titles announces,a dictionary of proper nouns, including place names and literary figures. Several historical dictionaries provide some combination of interpretation and information: see, for example, Franqois Furet and Mona Ozouf, eds., A Critical Dictionary of the French Revolution, trans. Arthur Goldhammer (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1989),Jean-Pierre Rioux and Jean-Franqois Sirinelli, eds., La France d u n si&clea l’autre: dictionnuire critique (Pats: Hachette, 1999), and Jacques Julliard and Michel Winock, eds., Dictionnaire des intellectuelsfranGais: lespersonnes,les lieux, les moments (Paris: Le Seuil, 1996). Since 1984,the Revue politique etparlementaire has published Les kvknements politiques, internationaux, kconomiques et sociaux, culturels et sportifs de l’annkeannually, under the authorship of Serge-MainRozenblum. For an older, similar instrument,see L’annkepolitique,kconomique et sociale en France (the title from 1945 to 1979 was L’annkepolitique, kconomique, sociale et diplomatique en France).
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Index
Badinter, Robert, 222,236,238 Balladur, Jkiouard, 143, 148,179 banlieues rouges. See suburbs Barbie, Klaus. See trials Barre, Raymond, 58,141,145,243 Barrot, Jacques, 243 Bayrou, Franqois, 243 Beck, Ulrich, 9,297 Bergeron, Andre, 189 Berlin, Isaiah, 4 Bigeard, Marcel, 93 Bismarck, Otto von, 27 Blair, Tony, 295 Blum, E o n , 46,47, 114, 117, 120, 151,
Abbas, Ferhat, 84 Adenauer, Konrad, 104 Agacinski, Sylviane, 233,241 agriculture. See economic growth; peasantry Agulhon, Maurice, 283 Alain (pseud. m e Chartier), 80 Algeria, 26,49,78,83-84,223 Algerian War, 8,15,82-89; and demonstration of October 17, 1961, 67-68,75n36; and emergence of National Front, 79,89-93; use of torture by French Army in, 7 9 , 93-95; as watershed event, 78-79 Allegre, Claude, 210 Alsace and Lorraine, 16,28,29,49 Althusser, Louis, 283 Amsterdam Treaty, 294, 301. See also Mktricht Treaty anticlericalism. See luzciti anticommunism, 50,60,77-78,138,
168,227
283-85 antisemitism, 31-32, 47-48, 50, 52, 56-59,60,62,66. See also trials; Vichy government army, French, 2, 29-31, 78, 86-88, 103; and military service, 28, 33, 86, 207. See also Algerian War; Dreyfus Affair, nuclear strike force; World War I; World War I1 Aron, Raymond, 308n47 Attac, 296-99 Aubry, Martine, 153,215 Auroux, Jean, 208 Bachelot, Roselyne, 231-32 Badinter, Elisabeth, 221-22, 235, 236,
237,242
Bonaparte, Napoleon. See Napoleon bonapartism, 17,47, 125, 149,296; during 1930s, 47; compared to other traditions on right, 128-30; defmed, 29, 127; as response to globalization, 264, 287, 290-91, 299; and National Front, 91; and presidential institutions, 81. See also ligues Bonnet, Bernard, 225. See also Corsica Bossuet,Jacques-Benigne,302 Boulanger Affair, 28-31 Bousquet, Rene, 51-52,62,67,80 Boutin, Christine, 239, 243 Bove, Jose, 93,296-99,302 Brasillach, Robert, 63,168 Bretton Woods, 177-78 Britain. See United Kingdom Bruckner, Pascal, 199, 287, 288 bureaucracy. See centralization; dirigisme; &ole nationale d’administration Burrin, Philippe, 62
329
330
INDEX ~~
ca ira, 20 Camus, Albert, 64,94 Canard encbafnk,68,15 1 capitalism,French attitudes toward, 166,175-76, 187-90,205-7; and planning, 166 Catholic Church, 3, 19, 21, 25, 29, 92; and capitalism, 176; Catholics move to the left in the 1980s, 123, 128; decline of, 181,183-84; and Dreyfus Affair, 32; and legitimist tradition, 126, 128; and orleanist tradition, 127; and Revolution of 1789,21-22; and World War I, 35; and World War 11, 50,71,126; youth movements of, 126. See also laicitk Catroux, Georges, 85 CCline, Louis-Ferdinand, 63 center, political. See Christian democracy; ouverture centralization,4,21-23,132-33,165-69. See also decentralization;Jacobinism; political culture; state building Centre dktudes, de recbercbes et dkducation socialistes (CERES), 120, 121, 123. See also Chevenement, Jean-Pierre Ceyrac, FranGois, 189 Chaban-Delmas,Jacques, 85, 131-32, 138; defeated in 1974 elections, 138-39; and nouuelle sociktk, 136-38, 146,154-55,166;and UDR, 137-39. See also Gaullism; Pompidou, Georges Chalandon, Alain, 218 Chamberlain, Neville, 48,85 Charles X, 25, 126 Charter, 24 Cbartes d'Amiens (Charter of Amiens, CGT), 116 Chaunu, Pierre, 218 Cheniere, Ernest, 220. See also lai'citb Chevknement,Jean-Pierre, 120, 153, 154,211,216,224-27,245-46,298, 301. See also Jacobinism Chirac, Jacques, 58,64,139, 179,208, 285, 299; and Corsica, 22425,226; and immigrants, 218; and parity, 231; and presidential election of 2002, 90, 245-46,301-2; prime minister under Mitterrand, 145-46; and rhetoric of la fracture sociale, 148-49, 201;
rivalry with Giscard, 140-42; and scandals, 151,243 Christian democracy, French, 81,82, 104,118,126,129, 137. See also ouverture Christopher, Warren, 274 Churchill, Winston, 85 citizenship,9, 45, 79, 91-93, 215-20, 224,235. See also republicanism civil society, 126, 128,167-69,218-19, 245 Clemenceau,Georges, 32, 36-37,48,79 Clinton, Bill, 278 cohabitation, 113, 142-43, 145-46, 153 Cohn-Bendit, Daniel, 291 Colbert,Jean-Baptiste, 166-67 colbertisme. See dirigisme Cold War, 4,77-78, 102-3, 106, 152, 186,216,281 colonization, 29 Committee of Public Safety, 20 Common Agricultural Policy (CAP). See European Economic Community Common Market. See European Economic Community Common Program. See Socialist Party Commune, Paris, 27-28,30,115 communism,French Communist Party (PCF), 37,47,64,69,70,71,113-15, 186,212; during interwar years, 172-73; in the 1950s,77; as countercommunity, 114-15, 186; decline of, 113, 122, 146,205; and intellectuals, 94, 282-85; organizational integrity as PCF's priority, 114; and socialists, 77, 89-90, 113-14,121,122; and other working class organizations, 114, 186, 188-89; and World War 11, 54. See also anticommunism communitarianism.See group politics Comte, Auguste, 167 Conan, h c , 69 Confkdkrationpaysanne, 296-99 Conseil constitutionnel (Constitutional Court), 215,226,231,233,234, 254n106 Conseil National de la Rksistance (CNR), 53,55. See also Resistance Conseil national du patronat franGais (CNPF), 188-89,208,297 conservatism, 5, 12n3, 130. See also
INDEX
331
Deat, Marcel, 52, 63 death penalty,25,73114 Debray, Rkgis, 221-22,285-86,287-89, 292-93 Debrk, Michel, 141, 144, 179 decentralization, 113,118,213-15,244, 301. See also left, "second decolonization,8, 15. See also Algerian War; Indochina War Deferre, Gaston, 118, 120 Delacroix, Eugkne, 25 Delanoe, Bertrand, 298 Delors, Jacques, 120, 121, 132, 147-48, 153,279 domano, Michel, 141 Descamps, Eugkne, 189 Daladier, fidouard, 46,81 Daniel, Jean, 223,224,2531180,291,301 dirigisme, 162-69, 177-81,208-15. See also Jacobinism; state building; Dannecker,Theodor, 57 Tocqueville, Alexis de Danton, Georges-Jacques, 20 Doriot, Jacques, 52,63 Darlan, Franqois, 51,61 Dreyfus Affair,28,31-33,39,46,94 Darnand, Joseph, 52,63 Drieu la Rochelle, Pierre, 63 Darquier de Pellepoix, Louis, 52,66,67 Drumont, fdouard, 32 de Gaulle, Charles, 5-6, 8, 15, 35, du ROY,Albert, 262-63 37-38,49,59,69,274; Algerian Dubet, Franqois, 206,213 policy Of, 87-89, 102, 129; and Duclos, Jacques, 120 American power, 101, 102-3, 105, Duhamel, Olivier, 236, 290 106, 129; assassination attempts DUIMS, Roland, 152,243-44,286 against, 88;"une certaine idee de la France," 37, 431129; and conservative Ecole libre des sciences politiques. See parties, 128-30; opposed to Institut ddtudespolitiques dictatorship,86-87,99, 101; Ecole nationale dadministration economic views of, 105,165; and (ENA), 179-80. See also dirigisme European integration, 100,101, 103-5,264,270-71; and institutional Ecole normale, 80, 167-68 kcole polytechnique, 163, 167 reform, 78-79,81,87,88-89,99, economic crisis (post-1973), 122,123-25, 105, 112-13; view of leadership, 138,140,142;and globalization, 190, 100-101,112-13; and May 1968, 201; and immigration, 217-20; and 119-20; and Mendks France, 81, 112; labor market policies, 209-10,215; and modernization of French and personalization of politics, military, 103; and NATO, 100,102-3, 150-53; bipartisan policy responses 264; nationalism of, 37-38,99-100, to, 208-15; policy responses of left in 105, 106; and political parties, 111, power to, 123-25,165;policy 112-13, 128-30; and Pompidou, responses of right in power to, 146, 130-31, 141; resignation in 1969, 149-50,165,215;political strategies 120, 131; and social questions, adopted by major parties in response 1571110; and sovereignty, 53,99-106, to, 144-54; effect on public attitudes 261,264; speech of June 18, 1940, and voting behavior, 142-43,145, 49; and UN, 101, 264; view of Vichy, 148-49,151-52,153,165,201, 55, 58, 100; understanding of World 2058,215-17; and social change, War II,49, 53. See also Gaullism; 201-5 Jacobinism;Resistance; World War I1 economic growth: during the postwar de Maistre, Joseph, 236 trente glorieuses, 79, 177-81; under de Villiers, Philippe, 148,150
bonapartism; legitimism; ligues; National Front; orleanism;parties Constitution of 1958,87,231,233, 237, 243,256n117,261-62. See also Conseil constitutionnel;Republic, Fifth Convention, 19, 22, 154 corporatism, 163 Corsica, 22429,301 Cresson, fidith, 147, 230, 231, 232 Croix de Feu, 47,60. See also ligues Crozier, Michel, 132, 133-36, 244
332
INDEX
economic growth (continued) Second Empire, 27; in France, compared to other countries, 162, 181; effect on political attitudes, 122, 140, 152; and industrial revolution, 161-62, 170; and social structure, 170-73,181-87 Edict of Nantes, 18 education, educational system ,21-22, 23,27,30,123-24, 167-68,174-75, 182-83,206-7; difficulties facing would-be reformers, 210-11, 219; and headscarves controversy, 220-24; and Syndicat national de Z‘kducation secondaire (SNES), 210. See also Zai‘citk May 1968 elections, local: of 1976, 140; Paris, 1977,141 elections, national, to legislative bodies, presidency, and European Parliament: of 1792,20; of 1848,26,174; of 1885, 29; of 1889,31;of 1919,38;of 1936, 47; of November 1946, 114; of 1956, 85; Of 1965, 118-19; Of 1968, 120, 189; of 1969,120,131,137; of 1973, 121, 138; of 1974, 121-22, 138-39; of 1978,122-23,140,142; Of 1979 (European Parliament), 143; of 1981 (legislative), 122, 145; of 1981 (presidential), 68, 122, 142; of 1984 (European Parliament), 124; of 1986, 145; of 1988 (legislative), 143, 146; of 1988 (presidential), 143, 145, 146, 219; of 1993, 143,147; of 1994 (European Parliament), 147,148,231, 290; Of 1995, 143,148-49,201; Of 1997,143,150; of 2002 (legislative), 90,143,245-46,263,298; Of 2002 (presidential), 90, 143, 245-46,263, 298; and suffrage rights, 20,23,25; and plebiscitary tradition, 23. See also electoral laws; parties; referenda electoral laws, 87,88-89, 111, 112, 117, 145,146,1591143,233,appendix C Emmanuelli, Henri, 148 Empire, French. See colonization; decolonization Empire, First, 22-23 Empire, Second, 22,26-27, 125, 176 empowerment, 3,4-5; disempowering effects of economic crisis, 205-8 Enlightenment, 18
Erignac, Claude, 224. See also Corsica European Coal and Steel Community (ECSC), 103,266,269 European Defense Community (EDC),
82,104,264,265-66,3051113 European Economic Community and successor organizations, 103-4, 138, 178,266; Common Agricultural Policy (CAP), 185,266,269; European Community/LJnion as constraint on domestic economic and social policies, 208, 266-72,293-95; and Schengen agreements, 271; and Single European (Single Market) Act, 267. See also Maastricht Treaty European integration,8,9, 112, 113, 188, 265-72; and “democraticdeficit,” 267, 268-69; political parties and, 265-66; public opinion and, 265-69 European Parliament. See elections; European integration European Union. See European Economic Community; European integration; Maastricht Treaty; Yugoslavia excZusion. See economic crisis extreme right. See bonapartism; ligues; Maurras; National Front; Vichy government Fabius, Laurent, 179 Faure, Edgar, 85,111 Faure, Paul, 117 Fauroux, Roger, 202, 301 Fkdkration nationale des syndicats et exploitants agricoles (FNSEA), 126, 185, 284. See also peasantry Ferry, Jules, 21-22,30,173-74,222-23, 263,274 Finkielkraut, Alain, 741130,221,287 foreign policy. See de Gaulle, Charles; Gaullism; sovereignty; United States; Yugoslavia Foucault, Michel, 5 Franco, Francisco, 46, 87 Franco-American relations, 55; U.S. favors Giraud over de Gaulle, 61, 101; U.S. and Vichy, 61; See also de Gaulle, Charles; United States Franco-British relations, 18, 27, 29-30, 33,49-50, 101, 104. See also European integration; Yugoslavia
INDEX
333
globalization,7 , 4 5 , 9 3 , lob, 149-50, Franco-German relations, 30, 33; in 178,190,199-200; and l w s , 104-5; and appeasement, antiglobalization NGOs in France, 46-48; conservativeview of in 1914, 296-99; defined, 9; Europeanist/ 34; and European integration, 266, multilateralist response to, 264-5, 267,270-71; and German relationship 269-72; “Jacobin”/souvwainiste with US.,104-5; leftist view of in response to, 264-65; and identity 1914,34;See also France-Prussian questions, 21517,228,264,263, War; Vichy government;World War I; 271; public attitudes towards, 263-65; World War II; Yugoslavia and sovereignty, 262-64. See also France-Prussian War, 16,27-28,32 economic crisis; humanitarian France-Russian relations, 30, 33, 103 intervention Free French. See de Gaulle, Charles; Glucksman, Andre, 280, 284, 286, 289 Resistance Goya y Lucientes, Francisco de, 23 French Communist Party (PCF). See Grevy, Jules, 30 communism group politics, 5, 93, 153, 229, 262, 264; Front de libhation nationale 0. and Jewish identity, 65-66,70, See Algerian War 751132,236;and Muslims, 92, Front de libkration nationale de la 220-24,229,238; republican Corse (FLNC), 224,226, 227 rejection of, 200-201, 219-20, 230, Front national (FN). See National Front 240. See also gay rights; Furet, Franqois, 283 globalization;Jacobinism; lazcitk; parity; republicanism; sovereignty Gambetta, Eon, 22, 39, 174-75 growth, economic. See economic growth Gameh, Maurice, 46,49 Guesde,Jules, 115-16, 120 Garaud, Marie-France, 139,140,292 Guigou, Ibsabeth, 224, 241, 279, 294, Gaspard, Franqoise, 223 Gaullism, 64,99-106,128-30, 141; and 295 Gulf War, 100,273 postwar economic growth, 178;and rivalries on the right, 136-42. See Hadj, Messali, 84 also Chirac, Jacques; de Gaulle, Halimi, Gisile, 232 Charles; sovereignty Hall, Peter A., 208 gay rights, 238-43; AIDS crisis and, Hassner, Pierre, 287, 291 238-39; conservative opposition to Henriot, Philippe, 63, 66 PACS, 239,243; and issue of gay HenryVIII, 17 marriage, 239,240-42; and Pacte Herriot, Edouard, 80,168 civile de solidarite‘ (PACS), 238-241; public attitudes toward PACS, 242-43 Hitler, Adolf, 46, 51, 283, 289. See also World War I1 gender politics. See gay rights; parity Ho Chi Minh, 78 General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade Hoffmann, Stanley, 133, 135-36,244 (GATT), 177 HoIlande, Franqois, 298 Germany: and “Germanproblem,” 102; Hoover, Herbert, 85 unification of under Bismarck, 27; Hoover, J. Edgar, 77 unification of, 1989-90, 100,216, Hue, Robert, 154 273. See also France-German relations; World War I; World War 11; Hugo, Victor, 25 humanitarian intervention, 94,280-93. Yugoslavia See also sovereignty Girardet, Raoul, 103 Gmud, Henri, 5 4 6 1 identity politics. See citizenship; group Giscard d’Estaing,Valery, 68, 12 1 , politics; immigration; National Front 137-42, 179; and ouverture, 138, immigration, 79, 94-95, 146, 181, 139, 140, 158n33; as president, 122, 184-85,217-20,228-29. See also 140. See also orleanism
334
INDEX
immigration (continued) citizenship; economic crisis; group politics;Jacobinism; lazclte National Front ind6pendunce.See sovereignty Indochina War, 15,78,81-82 Institut d&udespolitiques, 80, 168, 179 intellectuals, 58,94133; and headscarves controversy, 22 1-24; and humanitarian intervention, 282-93; and left, 282-85; and martial law in Poland, 284-85; and Yugoslavia, 280, 282-93. See also education International Monetary Fund (IMF), 177 Internationale, 201,249n13
Kouchner, Bernard, 153,285 Kriegel, Annie, 218, 283
Kant, Immanuel, 18 Keynesianism, 81, 163, 167; defined, 164; and postwar political settlements, 164, 187,293 Klarsfeld, Serge, 62,66,67 Koestler, Arthur,94 Kohl, Helmut, 271
Maastricht Treaty, 100, 121,148,265, 269-72,301; and Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), 270,279; and subsidiarity, 300 Mac-Mahon, Patrice de, 81 Madelin, Alain,226,254~196,291 Malraux, Andre, 69-70,93,105
Lacoste, Robert, 86,163 Laguiller, Arlette, 123 lufcit6,21-22, 92, 220-24. See also Catholic Church Ferry, Jules; group politics; Jacobinism; republicanism Lalonde, Brice, 123,287 Landes, David, 175-76 Lanzmann, Claude, 66 Lapeyronnie, Didier, 213 Laval, Pierre, 51,61,67,78. See also Vichy government Le Figaro Magazine, 252n67 Le Pen, Jean-Marie, 89-91,148,150, 218,245,263. See also National Front Jacobinism, 20-22,132,168-69,302; Leclerc philippe de Hauteclocque), 55, and cultural assimilation/diversity, 131 70,79,83,92-93,200,216-17; Lefebvre, Georges, 283 defined, 22; and globalization, left, “first,”120-21, 123, 284, 285 264-65; attacked byparitaires, left, “second,”120-21, 123, 124, 126, 232-33. See also dirigfsme 166,188,296 Jacobins, 19-20 legitimism, 25, 125-26 compared to JamesII, 19 other traditions on right, 128-30 Japan, 77 Lkvy,Bernard-Hemi, 279-80,284,287, Jaw-&, Jean, 35, 115,116, 120,168 289-91 Jews. See antisemitism; Dreyfus Affair; liberalism, economic, 178; and group politics; trials; Vichy neoliberal response to economic government crisis (‘la p e n d e unique”), 149, 152, Joffre, Joseph, 35,36 178, 207, 208-9, 215. See also Jospin, Lionel, 62,90,143,148,179, capitalism, French; economic crisis; 295; and Corsica, 224-29; and globalization elections of 2002, 245-46, 301-2; liberalism, political, 4,7,161-62; and and gay rights, 239; and gauche Jacobinism, 20 plurielle, 153-54; and headscarves ligues, 47, 52, 56, 60, 80, 127, 151, controversy, 221,223; and parity, 1601154. See also bonapartism; 233; trotskyist past of, 283 Maurras, Charles; Vichy government Jouhaux, Leon, 35 Locke, John, 18 Julliard, Jacques, 221, 227, 228, 237, Long, Marceau, 219 286-87,289,291,293 LouisXIV, 18,166 July Monarchy, 25,125 Louis XVI, 18,19,24 June Days, of 1848,25,115,127. See Louis XVIII, 24 also Republic, Second Juppk, Alain, 149,179,208,230,243,287 LouisPhilippe, 25
INDEX
335
multiculturalism. See citizenship; group Marchais, Georges, 122,142 politics; immigration;Jacobinism Marshall Plan, 166 multilateralism, 262. See also Gaullism; Martin du Gard, Roger, 92 sovereignty Massu, Jacques, 93, 119 Munich summit of 1938,48; later Mauriac, Francois, 49, 3081147 references to, 222,227, 229,273,289 Mauroy, Pierre, 121, 123, 299 Muslims. See Algeria; citizenship; group Maurras, Charles, 32,47-48. See also politics; immigration; lakite‘ ligues Mussolini, Benito, 46 May 1968,2,105, 114,119-20,132, 183,189,207 Napoleon (Napoleon,)I 22-24,27, 132, Meline Tariff, 175 169. See also centralization Mend& France, Pierre, 79-82, 111, Napoleon, Louis Bonaparte (Napoleon 112-13,178; and elections of 1955, III), 26. See also bonapartism; 85; and May 1968,119; opposition to Empire, Second presidential institutions, 87, 119; Napoleonic Code, 23 resignation in 1956,86;and “second Nasser, Gamal Abdul, 86 left,” 120, 121 “nationalchampions,” 180. See also Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 94 dirigisme Messmer, Pierre, 138 National Front (FN), 29, 66, 79, 89-93, Michelet,Jules, 26, 39 145, 150,215,236; appeal and Milice, 61. See also trials, Vichy audience, 89,90-91; and government conservative parties, 89-90, 150, Millon, Charles, 150 218; electoral performance of, Milosevic, Slobodan, 275, 277-79,289, 89-90,91. See also bonapartism; Le 291. See also humanitarian Pen, Jean-Marie intervention; Yugoslavia nationalism, 8; during 1930s, 46; and Min~, Alain, 244-45,290 Commune, 27-28; different political minimumwage, 189, 1951164 connotations of, 15-17,38-39; and Mitterrand, Danielle, 220,223 liberal democratic politics, 16, 20, Mitterrand, Francois, 6, 58-59, 80, 202, 28,29,31,38-39; and external 285; and European integration, 263, conflict in generation of political 269-72,294; and May 1968, 119; identities, 8, 20; and First Empire, and Mendes France, 82,85; as 22-24; missionary zeal associated president of the Republic, 122-25, with (mission civilisatrice de la 145-47,286; and reconstruction of France), 20, 26, 35, 37, 38,262-63; Socialist Party, 118-19, 121-25, 147; as opposition ideology, 16-17, 28, activities during World War 11, 31; and orleanism, 25, 176; and 59-63; and crisis in Yugoslavia, Restoration Monarchy, 24-25; and 274-75, 286,287, 289. See also revolutionary doctrine of popular Socialist Party sovereignty, 17-22, 38; and Second Mollet, Guy, 85-86,87,113 Empire, 26-27; and Second Republic, monarchism. See legitimism; Maurras, 25-26; and Third Republic, 28-37. Charles; orleanism; Thiers, Adolphe See also bonapartism; Boulanger Mondale, Walter, 124 Affair;Dreyfus Affair,National Front; Monfort, Silvia, 223,253~183 World War I Monnet, Jean, 166 nationalization, 163, 164-65. See also Montand, Yves, 283 dirigisme Morin, Edgar, 283 Nazism, 56; See also Vichy government Morocco, 49,82 neoliberalism. See liberalism, economic Moulin, Jean, 53,64,69-70,80,93 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), Mouvement des entreprises de France (MEDEF), 188-89,208,297 295-96,300
336
INDEX
Nora, Simon, 132 North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), 100, 112. See also de Gaulle, Charles; Yugoslavia Notat, Nicole, 208 nuclear strike force, 88, 102, 103, 299. See also Gaullism; sovereignty Nuremberg. See trials Old Regime, 17-21, 168-69. See also centralization; Revolution; state building;, Tocqueville, Alexis de Opportunism, 30. See also Radical Party Oradour-sur-Glane,55 Organisation Arme'e Secr6te (OAS), 88, 102, 103. See also Algerian War orleanism, 25, 126-27, 137, 175; compared to other traditions on right, 128-30 ouverture, 131, 138, 139, 144-45,
146-50,154-55 ouvrie'risme, 116 Ozouf, Mona, 235 Pacte civile de solidarite' (PACS). See gay rights Papon, Maurice. See trials parity, 7, 229-38; and elections of 2002,
238 Parti communistefrangais (PCF). See communism Parti socialiste (PS). See Socialist Party parties, political, in France, 5, 135-36, 244-46; attitude of right toward, 128, 141; fragmentation of the right,
128-30 parties, political, outside of France: Conservative Party (UK), 5; Labour Party (UK), 5, 116,124,294-95; Social Democratic Party (Germany),
government, 50-52, 170; and World War I, 35, 286; and World War 11, 49, 69,70. See also Vichy government pieds noirs. See Algeria; Algerian War Pinochet, Augusto, 87 Pisier, Evelyne, 241-42 Pius M,21,126. See also Catholic Church planning, economic, 163-67. See also dirigisme Plantu, 301 plebiscitarianism. See bonapartism, elections Poher, Alain, 120, 131 Poincare, Raymond, 3 3 , 3 4 8 1 Poland, 48,284-85 Polanyi, Karl, 161, 297 political culture, French, 5, 8, 9, 38-39,
83,94, 132-36,200-201,205-8. See also Jacobinism; republicanism political economy, 2 political legitimacy, 2,6. See also political settlement political settlement, 6 defined, 1; French search for, 4, 16, 22, 24-25, 26, 28, 32-33,42n20,99, 173-75; liberaldemocratic, 5; and party system, 112; and republic as default regime, 28, 31, 38; and World War I, 34-38 Pompidou, Georges, 130-31, 168, 229; and Chaban, 136-38, 141; death in 1974, 121, 138; and May 1968, 119, 130, 136, 137, 189; wins presidency in 1969,120 Popular Front, 45,46, 47, 182 popular sovereignty, 7, 17, 19, 20-21, 38; and First Empire, 23. See also Jacobinism populism. See bonapartism positivism, 167 Poujadism, 29
124, 294-95 party systems: bipolar, 111;forces that shape, 111; of Fifth Republic;
112-13, 117, 186-87,200-201, 244-46; of Fourth Republic, 111- 12; of Third Republic, 135 Pasqua, Charles, 150 Pean, Pierre, 59, 61 peasantry, 171, 173-75, 176, 185. See also Fe'dbration nationale des syndicats et exploitants agricoles Petain, Philippe: as leader of Vichy
quartiers dexil. See suburbs Quastana, Paul, 225
Radical Party, radicalism, 30, 31, 79-80,
85 Raffarin, Jean-Pierre, 214, 215 rang, 16,69,99, 102 Rassemblement du peuple franGais (RPF), 12n5, 107111, 129 Rassemblementpour la Rdpublique WR),
141
INDEX Reagan, Ronald, 124,208 referenda: of 1962 (direct election of the president), 89; of 1969 (on regions and Senate), 120, 131, 137, 157n5;of 1972 (admission of Britain to Common Market), 138; of 1992 (Maastricht Treaty), 148,150,216, 265,270,279-80; of 2000 (length of presidential term), 153; de Gaulle's use of to end Algerian War, 88; provided for under Article 11 of the constitution of 1958,87.See also Constitution of 1958; Republic, Fifth Reformation, 17-18 religion. See Catholic Church; lakite' Remond, Rent, 125 Renan, Ernest, 16, 101 Renault, Lois, 63,172 Renouvin, Jacques, 54 representative politics, 7. See also bonapartism; parties; party systems Republic, Fifth, 5-6,7,135; attitude of left toward, 87, 117, 129; bipolarizing logic Of, 113, 117-19, 122-23, 130, 131, 143; electoral laws of, 117-18; divided executive in, 137, 140-41, 142-43,145-47; institutional arrangements,87,88-89,112-13, 117; institutionalevolution of, 125, 130, 153-54,244-46,301-2; role of judiciary in, 152; and school system, 182-83. See also Constitution of 1958; de Gaulle, Charles Republic, First. See Jacobins; Terror Republic, Fourth, 15, 135; electoral laws of, 117; end of, 86-87; party system under, 81, 112 Republic, Second, 25-26, 132 Republic, Third, 28,118,135,176; competition with Catholic Church, 28, 29,32; social project of, 173-75; and World War I, 35-36. See also Boulanger Affair;Dreyfus Affair; Ferry, Jules; lazcite' republicanism, 26,28,199-200, 216-17, 282. See also kziiiitk Resistance, 49, 52-56, 59,61-63,64, 65-71,81,94, 126. See also de Gaulle, Charles; trials; Vichy government Restoration Monarchy, 16,25,125. See also legitimism
337
Revolution, American, 7, 18 Revolution, Glorious, 17, 19. See also United Kingdom revolutions, French: of 1789,7, 16, 17, 18-22, 155,168-69,283; of 1848, 25. See also Commune, Paris; June Days, of 1948 Reynaud, Paul, 49 Richelieu, Armand, 166 right. See bonapartism; elections; legitimism; orleanism;specific political parties and leaders Rinaldi, Angelo, 227-28 Robespierre, Maximilien, 19 Robien, Gilles de, 243, 272 Rocard, Michel, 120,146-48,179,231, 287,290 romantic movement, 25 Roosevelt, Franklin D., 85 Rossi, Jean-Michel, 226 Rossi, Jose, 225 Rousseau,Jean-Jacques,18 rural revolution. See peasantry Russia, 33, 34, 36-37, 38. See also FranceRussian relations; Union of Soviet Socialist Republics Saint-Simon, Claude-Henri de Rouvroy, 167 Salan, Raoul,88,89 Sallenave, Daniele, 237,238 Santoni, Franqois, 226 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 94, 283 Savary, Alain, 124 scandals, 30, 150-52,243-45 Schnapper,Dominique, 219,3081147 school system. See education;May 1968 Schroder, Gerhard, 295 Schuman, Robert, 103 Schumpeter,Joseph, 175 Second Empire. See Empire, Second Section franGaise de l'lnternationale ouvri&e (SFIO), 37,47,87,115-19; alliance problems of, 117-19; and rearmament in the 1930s, 47; relations with PCF, 77, 113, 114, 117-19; relations with trade union movement, 116. See also Guesde, Jules; Jaures,Jean; Popular Front; Socialist Party; workers, working class movement secularism. See latcite'
338
INDEX
Seguin, Philippe, 150 Stguy, Georges, 189 September 11,2001, 100, 270, 271-72, 280 Serbia. See Yugoslavia Service du travail obligatoire (STO), 52 settlements, political. See political settlement Sieyes, Emmanuel-Joseph,19 Signoret, Simone, 283 social change. See economic growth social policy, 208- 15 Socialist Party (PS), 113, 147-48; alliance strategy in the 1970s, 121-23; and “experimental”supporters, 123,124, 147,154; political strategy during the 1980s, 122-25; and Programme commun, 121. See also Jospin, Lionel; Mitterrand, Francois;Section franGaise de l’lnternationale ouuri&re Solzhenitsyn,Alexandr, 284. See also intellectuals SOS-Racisme, 219,224,282 sovereignty, 4 , 8 , 18, 100, lob, 261-65, 267,268,287-89, 299-302; defined, 17. See also Debray, Regis; de Gaulle, Charles; European integration; Gaullism; humanitarian intervention; Yugoslavia sovereignty, popular. See popular sovereignty Spanish Civil War, 46,48,49, 117 StaIin, Joseph, 3 state building: European patterns of, 17-18; in France, 18,20-21,166-69, 178-80 state intervention (in the economy), 162-63, 199-200. See also dirigisme; economic crisis, bipartisan policy responses to; Keynesianism;nationalization; p1-g strikes and major political demonstrations: of February 1934, 45,47, 151; of 1936,48,51,188;of 1958, 86-87; of October 17, 1961, 67-68,75n36; of June 1984, 124; of December 1995, 149-50,207; prompted by issues associated with the school system, 206, 207. See also May 1968
Suburbs, 170, 172-73, 186,201,211-13, 248115 Suez expedition, 86 Talamoni,JeanGuy, 225 Tapie, Bernard, 147,290,310n78 Terror, 21,25,26,28 Thatcher, Margaret, 165, 208, 267, 293, 294 Thery, Irene, 241 Thiers,Adolphe, 28,42n20,173,175 Tiberi,Jean, 151 TocqueviIle, Alexis de, 132-33,165, 166-69,244, 283,284. See also centralization; state building Touraine, Alain, 201,219 trade unions, 120-21, 186,207-8; and collective bargaining, 187-89; Confdddrationgknkrale du travail (CGT), 114, 116, 186, 188-89; Confkdkration frangaise dhnocratique du travail (CFDT), 120-21,126,188439,208; Confiddration frangaise des travailleurs catboliques (CFTC), 120-21; Force ouvripre (FO), 188-89. See also strikes and major political demonstrations; workers, working class movement trials: Klaus Barbie, 64-66; Robert BrasiUach, 63; and changing views of crimes committed during World War II,64-71; Joseph Darnard, 63; RenC Hardy, 64; Pierre Laval, 63; Nuremberg, 63,64; Maurice Papon, 67-69; Philippe PCtain, 63; purge policies followed at the Liberation, 63,64; Riom, 46; Paul Touvier, 66-67. See also Bousquet, Rene; Resistance; Vichy government Tunisia, 82 unemployment, 202-5,209-10; and immigration, 217. See also economic crisis Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), 77,273; and World War II, 48, 50,54,77.See also Cold War; communism,French Communist Party United Kingdom: British politics compared to French, 1-2, 5, 6, 7, 165, 262; industrial revolution in,
INDEX 161-62, 170; policy responses to economic crisis, 208,294; state building in, 17-18. See also FrancoBritish relations; World War II United Nations. See humanitarian intervention; Yugoslavia United States, 38, 208, 229; as “hyperpower” after end of Cold War, 216,262,292-93; as postwar superpower, 77; French attitudes toward, 1, 199-200,205-6,262-64, 292-93,299-300. See also de Gaulle, Charles; sovereignty urban problems. See suburbs urbanization. 170-71 Vallat, Xavier, 52 Vedrine, Hubert, 262,271,295 Veil, Simone, 144,231,232 Vercors, 55 Verdun, 34, 38,271 Vichy government: and antisemitism, 52,56-59; economic and social policies of, 163, 170, 176; nature of, 50-51,52; 56-59; postwar republican view of, 58-59,69-71; public attitudes toward, 50-52, 731112. See also Resistance; trials; World War I1 Viet-Minh. See Indochina War Voynet, Dominique, 154 Weber, Max, 289 welfare state, 5,199,293. See also state intervention Weygand, Maxime, 49,51 Wilde, Oscar, 2
339
workers, working class movement, 26, 29, 186; and ouvrih-isrne, 116; and Popular Front, 48; and revolutionary syndicalism, 116; social and demographic evolution of, 171-73, 18547,202-5; and World War I, 34-37,47, 171. See also Commune, Paris; communism;June Days, of 1848; trade unions World War I, 33-39; union sacr6e during, 34-35; and Versailles Treaty, 45-46; working class attitudes during, 34,36-37 World War 11, 2,8,45-71; changes in France brought about by, 70, 177; and international alliances, 77; reasons for French defeat in 1940, 45-50. See also de Gaulle, Charles; Resistance; trials; Vichy government Yugoslavia, 8,9, 94, 100, 263, 272-81; British role in, 275-76; Dayton Accords, 277; European institutions and, 274-76, 279-80; French role in, 273-76; German role in 275, 279; Kosovo, 277-79, 280; “lift-andstrike” option, 287-91; public debate over intervention in, 279-80, 280-81, 282-93; NATO role in, 277-79; and UN, 272,274-76, 276-79; U.S. role in, 273, 274, 277, 278-79. See also European integration; humanitarian intervention; Milosevic, Slobodan; sovereignty Zola, Emile, 32
About the Author Anne Sa’adah is Joel Parker Professor of Law and Political Science in the Department of Government at Dartmouth College. She is the author of The Shaping of Liberal Politics in Revolutionary France: A Comparative Perspective (1990) and Germany’s Second Chance: Trust,Justice, and Democratization (1 998).
340