The
classical concert that preceded the magisterial fireworks that ended
the day was the closest thing to a French version of the Proms in
London, mixing light classical and popular songs. The Eiffel Tower
imbued the evening with its magic. Paris, in case anyone had any
lingering doubts, remains the capital of the world – or so it seemed for
a night.
The
melancholia that began to seize France many years ago was all but
forgotten. The celebration of the glory of the past, mixed with popular
English songs of the present, seemed to indicate renewed national
confidence. What was the meaning of this moment of grace? Was it purely
the product of a collective delusion, an emotional Potemkin village of
sorts, encouraged, if not conceived, by the authorities to restore some
level of self-assurance among France’s depressed citizens?
Even
if the positive emotions remain only fleeting (as seems most likely),
they were real and palpable. The French seemed to be in the mood to
celebrate. Of course, it could simply have been the weather; a gorgeous
summer has finally settled in after a miserable spring.
But
it might also have been one of those natural turning points, a
collective and spontaneous decision to say: “Enough of depression, let’s
move on.” We French may not be what we used to be, the celebrants
seemed to be saying, but we are still much more than people think we
are. We have a great revolutionary past that still conveys universal
values – liberty, equality, fraternity – and an army that, as in Mali,
continues to make a difference in the world.
One
can draw two lessons from this collective form of escapism. The first
is that, beyond the many layers of depression and distrust in France,
there is potential for a new and collective departure. This would
require, of course, less cynical political elites who can transcend
their petty ambitions and divisions for the sake of the country.
The
second lesson, even more obvious, is that reality cannot be changed
with a simple public spectacle. France is not Imperial Rome, where panem et circenses
made a fundamental difference. It is a weakened democracy mired in an
economic and social crisis so deep that it verges on becoming an
identity crisis.
The
proof was provided by a third traditional event on Bastille Day,
between the morning’s military parade and the evening’s music and
fireworks: President François Hollande’s speech to the nation, which
took the form of an interview with two prominent journalists. He, too, was in a reassuring mood.
According to Hollande, the economic upturn – la reprise
– had just started, and hope was around the corner. His tone and
message had changed. He was no longer the “normal man” of his election
campaign and tenure until now; instead, he tried to present himself,
like his predecessor, Nicolas Sarkozy, as a superhero.
Of
course, given his personality and low public-approval ratings, his
address was the least convincing event of the day. Who could have said
with certainty that the economic upturn announced by Hollande was real
rather than aspirational? Beyond his message’s wishful thinking, the
public’s reaction to the messenger was a mixture of disbelief and
indifference.
Seeing
the behavior of friends, all French, listening with me to Hollande, I
was reminded of another moment. It was December 31, 1989, and I was in
the Soviet Union. I had found myself in a restaurant in the old city of
Suzdal, listening to President Mikhail Gorbachev’s “New Year wishes.”
I was moved: The man who symbolized glasnost and perestroika,
who had allowed the peaceful emancipation of most of Eastern and
Central Europe, was speaking. But I was alone in paying attention to
him. The restaurant’s customers, like my French friends now, could not
have cared less. Their president had become background noise.
Has
Hollande become, in this sense, a French Gorbachev? For the left and
the Greens, he is close to being a traitor. These voters chose him a
year ago not only because he was not Sarkozy, but because he incarnated
the values of the true left, even if his centrist moderation seemed a
bad omen. Voters of the center or even the center-right are
disappointed, too, by their president’s lack of charisma, if not sheer
incompetence.
After
a year of Hollande, France is witnessing a fundamental political
revolution. During the half-century of the Fifth Republic, a bipartisan
system of left and right has traditionally prevailed. But now France is
becoming a country dominated by a “tripartite system” of more or less
equal strength: the left, the right, and the extreme right.
If
France wants to capitalize on the positive emotions of Bastille Day, it
needs much more responsible elites, ready to unite in the fight against
unemployment and its causes (lack of competitiveness and labor-market
rigidity) and consequences (the rise of populist, non-republican
forces). What Bastille Day revealed, even briefly and superficially, is
that the potential to unite France exists. But doing so requires more
than shallow promises.
Dominique Moisi is Senior Adviser at The French Institute for
International Affairs (IFRI) and a professor at L'Institut d’études
politiques de Paris (Sciences Po). He is the author of The Geopolitics of Emotion: How Cultures of Fear, Humiliation, and Hope are Reshaping the World.
