WTF?!--What the French

by Olivier Magny

  There exists a counterintuitive assumption in France that comfortably concludes that an African family moving to France will soon enough—through the almost magical merits of l’universalisme républicain—be essentially as French as a family who’s been in France for centuries. As if moving somewhere made you forget your language, your roots, your favorite food, your religion, and your values. As if French society were so incredibly effective at integrating newcomers and introducing them to traditional French values and customs that all the traits of these immigrants’ cultures of origin would not be passed on to the next generation.

  The reality is, of course, extremely different. Firstly, over the past few decades, immigration to France has been a mass phenomenon. Both the volume of people and the speed with which they arrive have been staggering. Secondly, there is a huge diversity of origins. Tunisians are not Algerians, Senegalese are not Malians, and Algerians are certainly not Senegalese. Not to mention, of course, that Chinese are not Moroccans either. Importing populations also means importing preexisting racial, cultural, and religious practices as well as prejudices, biases, and conflicts.

  Thirdly, there is an intrinsic malfunction of the French integration machine. With large numbers of immigrants flocking to affordable, immigrant-heavy neighborhoods, de facto ghettos came into existence. In France, many people of African descent live in neighborhoods and send their children to schools that most French people of French descent have deserted. So it is almost impossible for those children of immigrants to learn more about traditional French culture, values, and principles.

  Consequently, the face of many parts of France has changed tremendously over the past few years. In short, many parts of France are home to entire neighborhoods mostly populated by blacks and Arabs.

  In those neighborhoods, first-generation immigrants still wear traditional African clothing, salons naturally specialize in black beauty and hair, cafés are patronized by men only, veiled women are seen on every street, butcher shops sell halal meat, kebab shops flourish, mosques are built to accommodate the Muslim population, and so on. In France, the subject of Islam is often a topic of discussion, but the changing and increasingly African characteristics of the territory never are. Focusing on the consequence has become mainstream; acknowledging the principal cause, not quite.

  Just as it is illusory to claim that moving to France makes you French, it would be incorrect to say that people of African descent born or raised in France remain completely Algerian or Senegalese, etc. To the extent that a great number of these disparate cultures share similar concerns, frustrations, aspirations, and, more important, references in the form of rap music with low-income populations in the United States, it is fair to assess that these areas are Africanized just as much as they are Americanized. When the fast-food chain Quick announced recently that it would switch to halal meat, many expressed concern over this step toward l’islamisation. What very few realized was the irony that consisted of the Islamization of France’s Americanization.

  The face of the French territory slowly but surely changes. While most cities, towns, and neighborhoods have grown to be multiethnic (to different degrees), some are not: some are more or less devoid of white French people. Glimpses of this can be seen, for instance, when taking the RER commuter train, which connects Paris to its surrounding banlieues, to reach an airport or convention center. People coming from the countryside tend to feel a deep shock—“C’est fou, on est les seuls blancs dans tout le wagon” (It’s crazy. We’re the only whites in this train car). The main question that typically comes to mind of the white person at that stage is: “Gosh, am I racist for thinking this?” Questions like “How did this happen?” don’t seem to form often.

  Ultimately, what the visible ethnic transformation of France reveals is the extent of the dispossession at hand and the impressive dilution of the French culture. It goes to show how profoundly the “de souche” (“native”) French population has lost most of its mental antibodies: patriotism, sense of cultural identity, and willingness to address real issues have become extremely rare traits in France.

  It’s interesting to take a step back and look at the general context and the bigger picture: the population of Africa is booming (there were 100 million Africans in 1900, there are 1 billion today, and projections announce 2.5 billion Africans by 2050), while that of Europe is aging and not renewing itself. Considering that most mainstream political parties in Europe (left or right) are in favor of mass immigration and that the European Union has deprived member states of both borders and their right to control their immigration, there is no doubt that the ethnic and cultural compound of Europe in the coming years is bound to change even more radically.

  Useful tip: Touchy subject!

  Sound like a (young) French person: “Wallah, téma les babtous!” (Wallah, look at the whiteys!) Babtou is verlan for toubab, which in several parts of Africa refers to a person of European descent.

  THE CONCEPT OF MINISTRE

  President, vice president, secretary of state.

  Key personnel in a U.S. administration is rather straightforward. The French, it is understood, do not specialize in straightforward. That is even more true of French politicians.

  Upon nominating his prime minister, the elected French president asks him to form un gouvernement, generally referred to as “his government.” In France, a gouvernement is comparable to what Americans would refer to as “an administration” (as opposed to “the government”): it is fully partisan and changes every few months or years, based on the latest political escapades. Each government is made up of a prime minister and the ministres he appoints.

  So what is a ministre? On paper, a minister (the word has no religious connotation in French) is the person in charge of a ministère, or ministry—that is, a branch of the French government. Some major ministries include the Ministry of the Economy, the Ministry of Education, the Foreign Ministry, and so on. Each ministry is a bureaucracy in its own right, with its own responsibilities, employees (some of them in the six- to seven-digit salary bracket), revenues, and budget. The minister is in charge of implementing the respective aspects of the executive’s plan.

  One may think ministres are picked based on their skills and experience—that a career diplomat typically gets appointed as foreign minister, or that a successful businessperson traditionally heads the Ministry of the Economy. Oh . . . you dreamer you, you silly idealist!

  If the function of ministre has lost most of its glow over the past few decades, it is primarily because competence and legitimacy have become far less crucial in nominating ministres than the most blatant of buddy systems. Evidently, making it to the top means you (or your party) owe a lot of people a lot of favors. The easiest way to scratch the backs of the people who’ve scratched yours on your way up—or of those who might have dirt on you—is to nominate them as ministres. Easy and free . . . what’s not to like? This incestuous system that consistently brings the worst apparatchiks to the top of the French executive makes your weekly Conseil des Ministres look like a rather interesting bunch of political friends, ex-lovers, and actual foes, all talking pompously about subjects they know close to nothing about.

  Ministers typically operate out of stunning historical buildings, where they are treated like semiroyalty by their self-appointed court cabinet. Monsieur le Ministre this, Madame la Ministre that. The minister and his cabinet preside over the destiny of their ministry and its many employees. Perks typically include twenty-four/seven chauffeur service, full-time security (up to twenty guards at once), cushy salaries, free first-class travel, free lavish housing . . . It is time to finally cash in all these years of depressing political meetings and obscure rallies.

  While certain ministères are the immutable pillars of any French government, others seem to come and go, making one wonder about their very relevance. One government has a health ministry; the next one doesn’t. Does the hea
lth of French people get better or worst? You be the judge!

  Some Americans worried about their political system rightly criticize the rampant system of revolving doors whereby Americans politicians in charge of a given regulatory agency become company execs in that very industry, and vice versa. Child’s play. Revolving doors in France don’t even bother with the private sector. Who needs shareholders, accountability, and clients anyway? French politicians have long understood that real luxury lies in otherwise extinct privileges and in the downright absence of true constraints: one day education minister, the next defense minister.

  Any experience in education? Or the military?

  Certainly not. But I did go to school with the prime minister!

  Most politicians in France are career politicians. A good number of the most prominent ones have never held a real job. Every time their party gains control of the parliament, they’re back for a new round, running a new Ministry of Whatever. What happens in between? The French system makes it possible to earn a comfortable living being paid as a vaguely elected official at one of the multiple local (municipal, departmental, regional), national (Assemblée Nationale, Sénat), or supranational (Strasbourg, Brussels) levels. Add the bogus commissions and the money the party pays its key people, and you’ve got yourself a whole career pretending to serve the people while taking advantage of them.

  The more obvious the contempt for taxpayers and electors becomes, the greater the frustration and the anger against the political class grow among the French. When thinking of the structure of government in their country, a majority of French people these days now struggle to see beyond the striking incompetence and the obscene mismanagement. If you look at the results of the past few decades, it is hard to blame them.

  There is very little doubt that new ministères will soon be created to pretend to address this burning issue. Prompt resolution surely is around the corner.

  Useful tip: Serious fighting has been going on these past few years over whether a female minister was to be referred to as Madame le Ministre (masculine, referring to the function of ministre, which is a masculine noun) or the newer Madame la Ministre (technically mistaken in proper French but more satisfying to many).

  Sound like a French person: “Lui, il est passé de la santé à la défense. C’est vraiment du grand n’importe quoi!” (So let me get this straight. He was in charge of public health, and now he’s in charge of the military. This truly is grandiosely preposterous!)

  PESSIMISM AND NEGATIVITY

  When it comes to pessimism, France can take any other country on earth.

  In 2010, the French consumed more than 130 million sleeping pills and antidepressants.* They are the most morose people on earth—more pessimistic than even the people of Afghanistan and Iraq.* Only 5 percent of French youngsters consider the future to be promising.*

  Pessimism in France ought to be viewed as a form of asceticism. The French have grown to expect nothing. While this belief could unveil to them the path to wisdom, it typically unveils instead the path to mild pessimism, because when the French expect nothing, what they truly expect is nothing good. Nothing bad is no longer a common horizon in the French psyche. The positive, joyful outlook once shared by older generations—the famous joie de vivre—is disappearing at a fast pace. While some elderly French ladies will still smile at you on the street with kindness and benevolence, chances are their granddaughters are offering to the passerby nothing but a frown. France went from being a glass-half-full to a glass-half-empty society.

  After World War II, the future was looking bright, heralding more peace and prosperity for all. But now the paradigm has shifted. Most people over the past few decades have witnessed a turn for the worst in their country. And if many French people can’t resolve themselves to acknowledging it, there is no doubt that the grimness of collective perspectives contributes to their low morale.

  Most French people more or less consciously view France as a sinking ship. And while the upkeep of a certain quality of life typically exists at a personal level, the French have grown rather hopeless when it comes to their collective destiny. In short, French people see their country slipping away, and most don’t see an out.

  The French grumble, rant, and complain unendingly. But they rarely do anything decisive about their problems. Complaining but not doing anything to make things better is a formidably French specialty. France is home to millions of negative crybabies who somehow believe that feeling sorry for themselves is a small yet meaningful step toward the resolution of their issues.

  Voltaire once wrote, “Il est poli d’être gai”—It is polite to be joyful. However, most French people seem to have lost track of that basic form of courtesy. Countless French interactions are articulated around a succession of facts twisted negatively.

  The weather’s terrible?

  Il pleut, il fait froid: c’est horrible! (It’s cold, it’s raining—it’s horrible!)

  The weather’s beautiful?

  Qu’est-ce qu’il fait chaud, c’est insupportable. (It’s so hot, it’s unbearable.)

  It is helpful to understand that small talk in France is based on negative platitudes. That is how French people socialize and engage: by talking about how bad things, people, or places are. Do not approach a French person telling them you’re in a great mood. They will look at you with suspicion. Instead, tell them how exhausted you are and you will have them engaged right away.

  Moi aussi, j’suis épuisé! (Me too—I’m spent!)

  It is an understatement to stress that, unlike in many other countries, a positive attitude is rarely the default attitude in France. This negative outlook on most things corresponds to a form of mental laziness, which is all the more toxic as it makes people feel smarter and more in the know than optimists and positive people.

  It is a well-known fact that breakthroughs, discoveries, and tremendous success are indeed the exclusive domain of pessimists and negative people.

  Useful tip: Don’t let them get to you!

  Sound like a French person: “Mouais, ça m’étonnerait quand même. Si c’était une bonne idée, quelqu’un l’aurait déjà fait!” (Nah . . . I doubt it. If it were a good idea, someone would have done it by now.)

  EATING RULES

  One of the most disturbing aspects of French culture for foreigners visiting France is the many rules that preside over the delicate art of meal eating in France.

  First off, compared with many other nations, France has rather strict eating times. Trying to grab an early lunch or a late dinner is virtually impossible in most of the country. Throughout France, most restaurants will typically be closed outside the twelve p.m.–to–two thirty p.m. and seven p.m.–to–nine p.m. windows. Foreign patrons struggle to understand this phenomenon. Americans in particular, who are used to being served all day, generally see no good reason for restaurants to be shuttered. Frequently, when told, “Désolé, la cuisine est fermée”—Sorry, the kitchen is closed—they feel like French restaurateurs are conspiring against them or deliberately refusing to serve les Américains.

  The reality is quite different: French people very rarely eat outside their traditional eating times, so there is no real point in keeping kitchen and service staff on deck. All the more so as French fiscal and labor laws make it such that operating a restaurant is very expensive and it is in the interest of the business to operate only one shift (eight hours, including prepping), covering both lunch and dinner, thus drastically limiting opening hours. French restaurateurs are not inhospitable, lazy, or obtuse. They are just operating on very tight budgets, no thanks to the French government.

  Another French specialty that bewilders most foreigners is the amount of time French people spend at the dinner table. Eating quickly on the go has surely gained tremendous traction lately in France, particularly for weekday lunches, and yet any occasion the French have to indulge in a three- or
four-hour meal they are known to seize enthusiastically.

  Your typical French meal is a beautiful cultural construction. It is centered on three critical phases: l’entrée, le plat principal, et le dessert—appetizer, main course, dessert. French people will view a meal as incomplete if one of the three is missing. Most people sitting down at a French restaurant will therefore opt for le menu, a three-course affair that will typically have you in there for well above an hour. If the occasion is festive or the company agreeable, things commonly drag on for much longer: things start with an apéritif and occasionally finish with a digestif. All of a sudden, your ninety-minute, three-course operation turns into a four-hour, five-stage ordeal. In the company of a group of French people, most foreigners struggle with the three-course-menu culture. Foreigners are typically used to ordering one item based on their mood, desire, or availability. Ordering one steak or one salad when the rest of the diners go for le menu surely leads to a certain amount of discomfort.

  That cultural difference culminates when foreigners decide to enter a French restaurant “just to get dessert.” This triggers a mental malfunction in most French restaurant people—the idea is so preposterous that servers typically have to go ask both the manager and the chef. Everyone in the restaurant is as disoriented as if they had been asked to perform a dance atop the tables. “Just dess—? What? But? It’s not poss—? Who? Hold on?”

  Mental exhaustion quickly culminates. The awkwardness of the request introduces a major bug in their French meal matrix. The incident will be recounted for many months to friends and family.

  L’autre jour, des Américains sont venus au restaurant et ont demandé juste un dessert! (The other day some Americans came to the restaurant and they only ordered a dessert!)