My parents used to do something that might, in other circumstances, be considered rude, but might have been a necessary evil under the circumstances. My mother was one of the uppity women who actually had a college degree, and Dad, who bailed out of much of his formal schooling at fourteen or fifteen, had spent considerable time in France, so when they wanted to discuss something of weight in privacy, but were saddled with their considerable brood, they would just speak French and carry on the conversation with us trying to make some sense of what was going on. Dad, in particular, was a pretty serious francophile, particularly in terms of certain lifestyle issues, and this rubbed off on me to the point where, when offered the opportunity to learn some French in the latter stages of Grade 7, I leaped at the chance, even though it meant that I had to show up for school an hour early every day, and that there was no credit attached to the course. I carried this enthusiasm right through high school and eventually graduated from university with a degree in French Literature. After some kicking around trying out job options, I returned to university for a teaching certificate, and launched a career, now entirely in the rear-view of time, teaching mostly French at the secondary level. I generally found this rewarding and frustrating at the same time, and it certainly gave me an excuse to hone my language skills and cultural background by travelling in both France and Québec, by indulging in French television, radio and music, and continuing to read all manner of material from comic books to Jean d’Ormesson. I actually managed to incorporate a whiff of a lot of this stuff into the classroom routines to give students a sense that this wasn’t a hollow exercise in conjugating verbs and that an appreciation of one’s own culture required an outside reference point to be really effective (that was my line, and I still sense that it has some validity).

I guess the point of this is that there is a reason why I still pay attention to what happens in that far-off land, even though I don’t see myself going back. My sense was that there was a major current of progressive thought in much of the literature I studied, so of course I had the expectation that this would be something of an influence on how society functioned in France, even though I knew about the upheavals of decolonization and vicious undercurrents of fascism and reaction that have always acted as a counterbalance to any progressive leanings that might stir some portion of the population: ever the optimist in something of the Voltairian sense. Heck, they even have a Socialist Party and a Communist Party, and the Socialists have now elected a president for three mandates in recent memory, along with a stint with a Socialist Prime Minister from 1997-2002. Ah, but politics being what it is, we have what is known as a Socialist In Name Only, wherein Mitterand continued  pretty much the same policies as various conservative political formations have put forward over the decades, where Lionel Jospin admitted to lack of power to do anything when layoffs became standard operating procedure among profitable corporations, and where François Hollande, the current president and SINO, follows the EU austerity line, beggaring more citizens and further enabling the Medef and the hierarchy it represents. It’s a microcosm of what discourages people from voting. I listened to Mitterand, to Jospin, to Segolène Royal (PS candidate who lost to Sarkozy, the French Bush) and to Hollande. So much of what they said as candidates rang true, made sense, gave hope. They all crapped out, Mitterand blowing up Greenpeace vessels and dealing in all sorts of shady transactions in Africa, Jospin bowing to business as usual, Royal turning out to be a great friend to Tony Blair, and Holland betraying the mandate given to him by voters who had for too long been victims of the Sarkoziste pay to play system (so it would seem to an outsider). It seems rather like voting for Hope and Change, and getting Guantanamo six years on, the NSA in every box of cereal, drones all over, repeated corporate bailouts, cabinet posts dominated by Goldman Sachs, and a litany of failed policies leading to the point where there are almost as many people on Food Stamps as there are with legitimate jobs.

So I take this day to slurp some French Grape, eat the French national bird (raised in beautiful Beaver Creek, procured at the local Farmers’ Market from Bob) and ruminate somewhat on what could have been and what might still be, though the possibilities seem to narrow with each passing day.