No, We're So Right

Tonight we went to a bar with a bunch of students from ISEP. This was for an event with our language partners, with whom we talk and do events and stuff of that nature. This was a mixer, I guess you could say. Anyway, so after conversation about various topics, one question was asked by the Parisians: “What do Americans think of French people?”

I contended that we have three images:
1) Intellectual dude quoting Foucault, etc.
2) Romantic dude stealing your girlfriend.
3) Some Leftist

The first two did not strike the group that we were sitting with as particularly offensive or noteworthy. There was some grousing about them, but overall it wasn’t anything to get agitated about. But the third, man, I might as well have suggested that the popular image of Frenchmen is goat-raping or something.

“We are so not leftist!” and much along these lines…there were many complaints about Sarkozy and his administration—the vehemence is interesting; it seems so early for that. Of course, it underscores the idea of relative rightness and leftness: the proposals of the left in America are pretty tame. It's the spirit, the ideal society, that is most important in our categorizations (this is why Hilary is left in the popular imagination). And then came the words that chill any tourist in Paris’ soul: “general strike” on October 18th. Of course, whenever one is in a bar, one is obliged by the general din and ingested liquid to speak as loudly and quickly as possible, so I did not catch many of the relevant details, like: what the hell should I do? Needless to say, the 18th of October is on my list as days to avoid.

Of course, the companion question “What do French people think of Americans?” was asked. This was considerably less interesting to me. Because it’s apparent to me that the French are not in any meaningful sense anti-American. No, what the French are is anti-Bush, and that’s just a sane sober opinion.

This raises (certainly not begs) the question of why the perception exists. One possibility is that the perception of French anti-Americanism is similar to the idea that criticizing the military or the President is anti-American. Aside from the obvious flaws in this ideas, it is clear that the origins of the meme of French anti-Americanism date back earlier and separately than that other idea. The French anti-Americanism, of course, has its roots in the Federalist/Democratic-Republican party split and also the Napoleon III invasion of Mexico as the older roots; the more recent roots probably have to do with Charles de Gaulle and his foreign policy.

So the origin of the idea is not quite political in nature, although the myth is invigorated by politics—I only have to say the phrase “freedom fries” for you, the reader, to understand. But the reason you understand the exact incident “freedom fries” is because there was a pre-existing mythos, a pre-existing story.

“Freedom fries” is only apparently serious. It is actually somewhat ironically insulting. “Freedom fries” as an epithet is meant to remove the taint of Frenchness from the name of the food. Why’s that so important? Not so much because the two nations are opposed, but because of the popular image of the French wanting to expunge American culture. Take for instance a Jim Rome (a sports radio personality) rant on the French Academy’s adoption of the word courriel for e-mail. Rome railed against the idea that the French Academy could decide the word and hence replace the American word, the proper word (Of course, no French person uses courriel. Everyone uses e-mail.). That’s the meta-joke behind “Freedom Fries,” and therein lies the origin of the idea of French anti-Americanism. Charitably, the Americans believe that people should choose their own culture, whatever the results; uncharitably, Americans expect capitulation to American culture, no matter the place or time. Probably a mix of both motives is present. So Americans believe that the French are against American culture itself, not just specific manifestations like the President.

In truth, I don’t believe the French have much to worry about. The officials have their own expectations; witness the law that mandates a certain percentage of French songs on the radio. But the French people themselves have an attitude of adaptation to their own ends. So it is quite interesting to see an American good used slightly differently, in a French way. Clothes are the best example. Even with the American clothes, they are somehow worn in a French way. I know it when I see it, but I couldn’t tell you why. But these worries about purity from French officials, where they exist, are misplaced and foolish—culture only succeeds from borrowing from other cultures and using it for its own purposes. If you take a cultural good, and see only the final product, and not the sum of influences that compose it, then you do yourself a disservice.

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Vocabulary lesson (without accents):

Ca Craindre—literally “that scares me”, i.e., sketchy, every Stanford student’s favorite word.

Joyeux; Pompete; Bourre; Gris—the stages of drunkenness, tipsy, more tipsy, drunk, hungover. Whenever one is with a French person, and the idea is to learn about both English and French, the conversation inevitably turns to what words represent what situation, i.e., being at a bar.

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We went to Notre Dame today, for a visit. I’ve been before, of course. But it was nice to go again. Seeing it again, I was struck by the incredible straightness and uprightness and height of the edifice. It is as if the builders determined that everything should be with perfect right angles and perfect lines.

It’s also surprising somehow that Notre Dame is outfitted for worships. The confessional booths, behind thick glass, are the best example of this. They are bubbles in a sea surrounded by detritus. To change metaphors, they have the appearance of interrogation rooms in cop procedurals on TV. They are very spare. Also, watching pilgrims amongst tourists like myself is incredibly strange. All we’re here for is vacation; we gabber, we snap photos. They’re here for their souls. But I guess you can find that dichotomy in life in general. Rarely is it so obvious.

Also interesting are the tourists themselves. Some take guides, others take pictures of every intricate detail (which would take years), others like myself soak everything in. Or that’s what I say now. I’m getting the general sense, the forest not the trees. But there’s a danger of forgetting and being unable to remember the wonder. There are some people, I think, in the opposite side, there are those who insist on recording every single event in their lives via camera. I have the inflated picture count on Facebook to prove it. Taken to extremes, however, the record-every-moment interrupts the flow so often it’s impossible to get anywhere.

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French restaurants do something interesting. Rarely do they play the radio. Instead, they play entire albums straight through. When I know the album and enjoy it, I prefer the latter approach. Otherwise the radio suffices. But it’s an interesting choice.

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In conversations, the French rely more on their hands. When simply speaking, their hands harmonize with the voice for the tone. When speaking about someone, they touch the person they’re speaking about.

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The décor of restaurants often confuses. Café Indiana, with its Native American emblem, is (what else?) a Tex-Mex restaurant. The creperie we ate at for lunch combines pueblo-type walls with vaguely Greco-Roman pottery. One of the Greek restaurants of the Latin quarter features statues in the nude. Instead of a fig leaf, a scarf or menu suffices.

Sometimes the décor amazes. One café possesses Napoleon’s hat.

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There are some topics two people use to get to know one another. Preferences in books, movies, music are perennial favorites. “What do you do?” or “What are you studying?” is the all-time classic. At any rate, with French people, the topic to avoid is movies. All the titles are tragically different and you spend minutes trying to figure out what Hitchcock movie you both like until you realize that Vertigo is it. You can’t help the anti-climax: “Good film, huh?”

If one could avoid anti-climax for an entire life, that person would have it made.