Month: May 2012

The Social in Socialism


Hello everyone! As a follow-up to yesterday’s post, I would like to share my response to an email that I received, one that asked in an open way how I, as an American raised in a Capitalist country, could endorse a Socialist candidate. After writing it, I thought that others amongst you might find it worth reading:
“Thank you so much for your email. I really appreciated both your question and how you presented it. It made me realize that I have been living in France for so long that I have taken for granted that an explanation of why I would back a Socialist candidate might be merited. First, a little bit more about my background: I grew up in Ohio, Michigan, Pennsylvania then Santa Cruz, CA before moving to Manhattan. My Dad worked in retail his entire life (they called him “Dr. Retail”), my Mom works in retail and my Sister has her own business. So I too grew up with Capitalism. I also remember that Socialism was lumped together with Communism and Marxism when I learned about it at school while the reality of how Socialism operates in France is quite different from that.

There are many kinds of Socialism and even different kinds of Socialists within the Socialist party here in France (as an aside it is worth noting that there were ten candidates from various political parties from extreme right to extreme left before the first round of voting here, it is a much broader palette than Republican, Democrat or Independent!). However, the most prominent form is that of Social Democracy which promotes not revolution but reform within a Capitalist society. France has long held a mixed economy and is one of Europe’s most state-controlled Capitalist economies (including most of our utilities, transport, etc.). François Hollande’s platform includes two key topics in Social Democracy: social reform and wealth redistribution through aid and taxation. One of his primary focuses is education and the promotion of youth, something that is direly needed in France today where young people have a 25% unemployment rate. Yes, his taxation of those that will net over a million Euros a year (one that will come out to roughly 55% rather than the 75% reported) is controversial but not radically different than some of Warren Buffet’s or Stephen King’s current suggestions that the mightiest need to do their part and it will also permit Hollande to raise the minimum wage. Similarly, some of Hollande’s proposals, such as an immediate 30% pay cut for the President and his ministers, remind me of FDR’s New Deal, which aimed to bring a society together in a time of crisis. 

France is currently so terribly splintered. Not only is the gap between the “Have’s” and “Have Not’s” widening to the extremes (France’s wealthiest experienced a 40% increase of their worth last year) but the tensions between young and old, white or not white (regardless of whether someone was born in France or not) have lead to a society that is fear-driven and that is very much “each man for himself.” Growth is impossible in such a social climate. Neither is changing to a purely Capitalist economy an option in a country that has been constructed on social ideals such as free education, unemployment aid, free medical insurance and social security. Nicolas Sarkozy pushed the country in a more distinctly Capitalist direction and quite simply, it didn’t work. Or it did for a very, very few. It encouraged me so much to see that, here in Arles, the poorest neighborhoods had the highest voter turn-out and they voted strongly for Hollande. People want change. 

I could go on but this might begin to explain as well as I am capable of doing. As a Democrat, I also whole-heartedly endorse many of Hollande’s proposed social reforms but that is not what you were asking about and is perhaps irrelevant. I do realize that he has a too enormous task ahead of him but I believe that he might end up being one of France’s great presidents regardless. There is still an undercurrent of the aristocracy here in France–those that are in control are often from the wealthiest, oldest families. If this “normal” man can bring about change, more power to him.”


I spoke with Remi during lunch (he attained a law degree before becoming a photographer and is the sharpest news hound I know). He asked that I include the reminder that since the Revolution, people have fought and died in order to build into the government certain controls (for lack of a better translation) with the aim of protecting the respect for the human condition. So that people do not have to work every day of the week and that children are no longer a part of the labor force. To have the guarantee of a retirement. On May 1, the French people pay tribute to the sacrifices that were made for their current freedom and to salute the power of the workforce. 

This is a lot of politics to throw at you over two days but it is also an important part of living in France. I understand if it is not your cup of tea and hope that any comments will remain polite. In no way am I making comparisons or saying that one country is better than another–that is a conversation that doesn’t interest me in the least. The differences are always worth examining and what makes our world so interesting!


Brighter Day

The already stunningly deep blue sky seems to me to be even brighter this morning. I woke up feeling lighter, a weight had been lifted off of my chest that I hadn’t realized was there. I am really happy–no, I am really, really, really happy that François Hollande was elected the French president yesterday.
Five years ago, I listened to Nicolas Sarkozy’s promises and was thrilled to see that a record number of people turned out to vote. And yet, with the passing of time, I was increasingly disappointed by the “divide and rule” tactics and fear-mongering that ensued. As someone who works in the press, I saw first-hand how he muzzled the editors of some of France’s most important magazines in the name of self-interest. As a foreigner, I felt more and more unwelcome as he chased after the vote of the extreme-right Front National Party, whose ideology is based upon limiting the arrival of immigrants such as myself. Sarkozy dared to say to a fellow citizen “Casse-toi, pauv’con!” (roughly “get out of my way, you poor jerk”) and his ministers could make ‘jokes’ about France’s Arabic population without being reprimanded. The economy worsened without solutions for those in the middle and lower classes while caps on tax hikes were put in place for the wealthiest. The jobless rate continued a steady climb. There hasn’t been much in the way of hope in the air for quite some time now.
So goodbye to all of that.

Today is a day to celebrate!
I’ll leave you with some photos of one of my favorite corners of the Alpilles, just beyond St. Remy. My honey has long been attracted to this tiny chapel and has photographed it many times. I never tire to accompany him as there is always something new in the land, in the light to try and capture…

…including a heart shaped rock, surrounded by stone in the middle of that ancient wall. What a beautiful discovery and it seems somehow very appropriate for how I am feeling today.
Have a wonderful week everyone! 

My Dream House on the Côte d’Azur

For once, it was Remi who pulled the car over with a need to take a second look. “You need to see this,” he declared as a smile slowly spread over his features. “What?” (me, cranky after a long day). “Only your dream house,” he tossed off as he slid out of the car. I grabbed my camera but was highly dubious. 

Silly me. I love the cast-offs, the shy ones, the Island of Misfit Toys. Remi knows this. He also knows that there is a part of me that is dancing in silk bias cut gowns, Zelda-like, if only in my imagination. And he found the perfect blend between the two. 

The house looks as though it hasn’t been lived in for quite some time. But the charm of the best of what the Riviera once was beckons behind its closed-off gates, sleeping in its ill-kept gardens. With the lullaby of the sea singing just beyond. From the few shutters left open, I can tell that the house has a straight-through access to the blue beyond. Can you imagine the Jazz Age parties that were held here? Don’t you feel the impulse to open up all of the windows and let the curtains billow? I sure did. And here is the kicker. Someone will. On the quaintly unimposing gate, reminiscent of more promising times, we read the permis de constuire or construction permit which was not, thankfully having to do with destruction but rather concerned the simple addition of a pool. 
So someone is going to save this lovely old girl–isn’t that something? It made me think of my other Sleeping Beauty, My Dream House in Provence. I would take either, frankly with unabated joy. Remi and I got back into the car and were both quiet for some time, groggy from having a new dream in our hearts and content that someone will be living it soon.
Have a wonderful rest of your weekend, friends.

The bridge

There are moments in life when we feel compelled to stop and go back for a second look. 
Remi and I were barrelling along a back road in the Var when in a flash something pulled at the corner of my eye. “Hold on, can we turn around?” By now, Remi knows that this is a question that I don’t ask lightly. He obliged and we were awarded with the view of a lopsided old bridge tucked in the hills of a forgotten valley. The noonday sun flattened out the land in the palm of its hand, something was missing. We drove on.
After enduring the winds rustling around Grimaud, we decided that they would keep us from enjoying a sunset glass of rosé in St. Tropez as had been our plan and turned back. “Why don’t we stop again at that bridge we passed earlier?” Remi suggested. I should have known. A perpetual light hunter, that one.

Ben jumped out of the back of the Range Rover with a shake of delight. How strange this terrain with its bumpy lava-like crust dotted with lichen. The parasol pines pushed the horizon out and up, in a very Seuss-ical manner. Curiouser and curiouser.

As can happen when faced with such utter beauty, some silent agreement forms between Remi and I. We both need to go our separate ways for a while and define it for ourselves. Ben plays tag between the two of us. As on that particular evening it happened to be close to the time when he usually hears his favorite word in the world, he shadowed my heels, looking at me questioningly “where are we?”.

“A rather good question,” I thought. I let my eyes tell me where they wanted to go and as has been often the case lately, they zeroed in on the small, the details. The minutiae. How they fill up our everyday lives, so often without notice, without appreciation for all of the joy that they can bring.
The little things constantly lead us to the big. I looked up and gazed at the bridge, now bathed in the love of last light. How many bridges did I cross to get here? To be right here at this moment? 

There can be whole blocks of time in our lives, weeks, months, years, where we feel “stuck”. Caught up in webs of worry or weighted down by grasping silent emotions. And yet like the water flowing underneath that ancient bridge, we are always moving forward and being moved. Particle by particle and hope to hope.
A shudder passed over me as the cold from the sun-drained lava crept up in my skin. But I shook it off and let my gaze soften, wondering what bridges to cross lie ahead.

A First for May?

Time seems to be galloping along with all of the fervour of the horses participating in the Fête des Gardians. I keep shaking my head in disbelief that we are at the beginning of Month Five of 2012 but here we are with a holiday to prove it. I try not to repeat myself (even if I don’t always succeed!) so I will let my newer readers take a look at my previous entry about this holiday if they feel so inclined: May day! May Day!

What makes this years event so special is that it is celebrating the 500th anniversary of the Gardians, our French cowboys. Five hundred years! Yes, at times I can understand the comments about America being such a “young country.”

For the first time, the morning mass to bless the riders and their horses was held inside the Roman Arena. Such a strange mix of sacred and profane slightly boggles my mind but so be it.

As the Arena’s ancient stone stairways are steep, all of the recent mother’s were forced to stay outside the gates and push their antique prams patiently in the strengthening sun. Tiny faces peeped out from underneath crocheted caps and lacy bonnets.
As always, I delighted in the swish of the women’s skirts. The art of the Female Female. 

The surrounding streets were filled with weaving and wandering visitors. Russian, Spanish, Japanese and Italian bumped up against over the French voices. While the First of May is a national holiday in support of worker’s rights, it is also the beginning of the high tourist season. 

The Place du Forum was already filling rapidly as I descended the hill with Ben. As with every festive occasion here, several paella’s bubbled in massive iron pots around the square. But for us I wanted something as gentle as the Lilies of the Valley that are the token flower of the day and so whipped together an eggy mess to make a wild smoked salmon and asparagus quiche. I hovered over it after I pulled it out of the oven in its pre-de-puffed state, inhaling deeply. Patience is not my strong point, non.
And yet I haven’t been able to relax into this festive day completely. There is an unexpressed tension in the air about the presidential elections that will take place this coming Sunday. We have already been through a wearing first round that resulted in an alarming support (18%) for the extreme right Front National party with Arles coming in at 25% and nearby Saint-Gilles at 45%, the highest in the nation. While I have long appreciated the long-standing traditions that are held so dearly in the region, I hope with all of my heart that this election will take a turn and move swiftly towards the future. That this pleasant First of May can be a harbinger of hope to come.